


Council of the Dead

by orphan_account



Category: Hollywood Undead (Band)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-09-18 06:38:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 62,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9372563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "We only have one life. We only have one chance at it. Forgetting everything would be dreadful, wouldn't it? Forgetting the struggles and the great times you have been through. Some of you might want to forget all of it but I'm sure many will want to remember. All of us seek answers to our questions but do we ever receive them? All of us want to know the truth but we will be ever told? All of us once had a life.So why did we forget?Well, you're in for a treat my friend. I have the answers. All of them.But first, you must tell me everything.Most importantly, your story" - The chairman.





	1. Do you remember?

**Author's Note:**

> This might be updated less often so just heads up.  
> This is all based off the album 'Council of the dead' by famous last words.

\---Danny--- 

Danny awoke to a bright light shining on his face. He groaned and put his hand over his eyes.

The fuck? Why would someone awake him like that?

He tried to push the light away and succeeded. Danny sat up and looked around the small room.

There was only the bed Danny was laying on, a table side and a lamp. 

Who put the light on?

He fiddled around with the lamp for a minute or so.

"Where the frick frack is the off button?" Danny growled to himself.

He knocked the lamp to the floor, making him irritated but he tried to calm down. 

It doesn't matter.

It's just a lamp.

.

.

.

Where was he?

Danny got out of the bed and looked at what he was wearing. 

Blue jeans, red hoodie with a dark blue, jean jacket over it.

Huh, not bad.

Had he been kidnapped?

Was he going to be used for slave labour? Something worse?

Oh god, he didn't want to think about that.

He looked back down at the lamp to distract his thoughts and noticed it was shining it's blaring light down the hallway at the end of his bed.

Wait, a hallway?

Where the fuck did that come from?

He swore it wasn't there a minute ago. With a sigh he just shrugged it off as him being more involved with turning the lamp off rather then anything else which meant he didn't see it.

Danny was interested but apprehensive at the same time along with being highly confused. 

What if he wasn't meant to go down there? 

If he was kidnapped, how bad would be the punishment be?

He can find out the consequences later, this might be his only chance to escape.

With a deep breath, Danny took a step out into hallway.

He walked with a quick but light stepped pace to try and stop noise being created.

Danny couldn't hear anything other then his own footsteps.

Maybe he was alone?

Wait, why couldn't he hear his breathing?

Danny stopped for a minute and watched his chest fail to rise and fall.

This is just getting weirder.

Danny pinched himself to make sure he wasn't in some sort of dream.

This couldn't be real.

What happened before this?

He shut his eyes, trying to think of the last thing he done.

Nothing.

Nothing came to mind.

He knew nothing except his name.

Did he have a family?

Did he have a job?

Did he even have a life to call his own?

Did he even live?

_Was he dead?_

Danny shook away the thoughts and attempted to keep on walking. He suddenly halted to a stop and squeezed his eyes shut as a cold breeze hit his face which sent him back into thought.

No, he was just dreaming, that's all it is.

He'll wake up any time soon.

Any time now,

.

.

.

To his dismay, he was still in the same room and standing in the same place when he opened his eyes.

Maybe he should just keep on walking.

Maybe he'll find the end of the tunnel.

And everything will be okay.

Danny set back off, walking at a more steadier pace.

He looked at the walls as he moved past them.

They had all been engraved with pictures and symbols.

It was like they were telling a story.

The two walls were split into 7 sections, each represented by a different colour.

The golden tinted one showed a figure playing music and seeming quite happy.

The purple coloured one showed a man running down what it seemed an alley way with something in his hands.

The orange one showed a man slowly falling to the floor, seeming like he couldn't move at all.

The white one showed a man with bandages and syringes floating around him with what it seemed like bombs falling as well.

The red one was of a man leaning up against a wall, he was missing a leg and the theme of bombs falling was on this picture too.

Next was the green coloured one, it showed a man with money surrounding him but his body looked bruised and bloody.

The final one was blue and it showed a man looking angry with tears streaming down his face. He also had two bloody axes in both hands.

Weird, Danny thought to himself.

It probably didn't mean anything, just some weird art someone put up to creep out anyone who decided to venture down the long corridors.

Still, the placement of all of it was unusual.

Danny continued walking.

How long was this goddamn hallway?

He felt like if he walked any further his legs woul-

Danny stopped as a entered a circular room.

Inside was a black, ghostly figure sitting in a chair with 7 chairs placed round in a circle next to him.

6 of the chairs had people sitting in them, only one chair was empty.

He looked at the other 'humans' sitting in there.

To the left of the ghost, was a man with black, curly hair that was rather poofy. He had adventurous blue eyes and a couple of dark, uncoloured tattoos staining his visible arms. The curly haired man was wearing some sort of army clothing, though, it looked old.

Next to him was a skinny man, he looked fragile but kept a stern face. His hair was covered by a cap but some straight, black hair was visible. He was also wearing army clothing, but on one of his legs the material had been ripped off by the look of it.

The next person was a man with short, curlyish, black hair. His skin tone seemed slightly darker then the rest but he had calm, soft, brown eyes. He was wearing baggy jeans and a Hawaiian shirt. The shirt was also ripped into 3 places on the front.

Next was a man who was short and chubby. He had warm and welcoming blue eyes which comforted Danny in almost an instant. He had short, brown hair and somewhat of a stubble. His clothing consisted of baggy jogging bottoms and a large, grey t-shirt. 

The second to last was a man with stretched ears. He had black hair and dark brown eyes. The clothes he was wearing were dirty and ripped, but he could just about make out that he was wearing cheap brown suspenders with a cream coloured button up shirt.

The final man terrified Danny. He had dark blonde to brown hair which was covered by a sailors hat. His eyes were a cold, dead, icy blue. Even his body shape scared him, he seemed taller and more muscular then any of the others. The man was wearing very old army clothes, which were a light brown, and were covered with mud and dust like the other man next to him. He also had a scarf of some sort covering his neck. He was the first to notice Danny and he just gave him a dirty look.

None of them seemed to know each other.

None of them were talking.

None of them were even making eye constant.

"Ah, you're finally here." The ghost suddenly chuckled as he stared at Danny.

"Come, have a seat." The figure pointed at the empty chair between the skinny man and the one with nice brown eyes.

Danny obeyed and sat down, being acknowledged with a smile from the brown eyed man.

"I'll introduce myself and this place." The figure started talking. "I am the chairman, and welcome to the Council of the Dead"

The chairman was massive, maybe 7"5'. He had long, sharp, black fingers and had a scarily skinny body. His eyes were empty, white sockets with lines drawn underneath them. 

"All of you have departed from you physical human forms and are now dead."

Danny widened his eyes. He couldn't be dead, no way.

"Some of you have been dead longer then others-" The chairman looked over in the direction of the scary looking one and the stretched ear one. "While others have only just joined this realm." He looked at Danny before continuing. "You lot are a special group of souls. Not everyone gets the good fortune of this rare opportunity, you are all very lucky I chose you."

"Why are we chosen?" The curly haired man suddenly spoke out, his voice was raspy and scratchy. Maybe from shouting and screaming?

"All of you are connected from your previous lives. Connected from over a hundred years but you are all indeed connected in one way or another. If you haven't realised, you can't remember each other." This is true, none of them could recognise each other at the moment.

"You memories have already faded and it is my job for you to retrieve them by getting all of you to talk each other." The Chairman pointed at all of them. "You must tell each other your stories, each story will trigger the next and it will keep going on that way till we get to the last person." The chairman started to explain. "It will start from 2011 and it will stretch all the way back to 1890" The chairman looked at Danny then at the scary man. "This will help you connect the dots of your past lives, this will connect families and friends once again. You might even forgive each other for the things you done to each other." The chairman bitterly chuckled again, clearly hinting at something.

Danny raised an eyebrow but kept his mouth shut.

"Now, we should make a start." The ghostly figured turned his inhumanly skinny face to Danny."You-" The chairman pointed his long finger at Danny."- tell us your name, age and most importantly,

Your story."


	2. Danny's Heartbreak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2565 words. Sorry this took so long. Hope it's worth the long wait

\---Danny---

"Ummm, my name is Danny Rose Murillo, I'm-" He paused, trying remember. "I'm 29, well, was 29 when I died." Wait, why did it come back to him all of a sudden? "I was born on the 21st of November in 1982 and I grew up in California. My parents were rather rich so we lived in a large house that was shared with my siblings." Why was his brain suddenly working? "My parents were migrants from Costa Rica but they were instantly accepted into the neighbourhood we lived in. Everyone was accepting there, no matter your background, skin colour or personality, It was a pretty nice place." He smiled to himself, the image of the long stretch of road with houses on the side was becoming clearer and clearer in his head.

He then noticed everyone staring at him. Of course they were staring at him, he was speaking after all, but something about their eyes was off putting. Well, the scary ones eyes were the most hostile and angry out of the bunch but he wouldn't judge a book by its cover, that's just rude.

"I went to a average high school then to music college and earned a masters. I left college then joined a band called Lorene Drive." He looked up at the ceiling, clearly remembering his band members faces. "There was the 4 of us. At the start of our career we didn't take the job seriously, we would always be slacking off and going out drinking, cheating on our girlfriends, having sex with random people, not really wanting to settle down until one night..." 

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

The 4 entered the night club, the music vibrating through their bodies. They were immediately split from each other by the large crowd but that didn't matter, they had their trusty phones.

Danny saw the bar and hurried over.

He was kinda developing a alcohol dependency, but then again, they were out on the road touring which meant a lot of free booze which meant their self control with quickly spiralling away.

The young man ordered a cocktail, something classy to start of the night. He was bound to drink more tonight and he was most likely to black out. Maybe he would fuck a random chick? That's happened once or twice in the past.

Talking of chicks, a group of girls were leaning up against the wall of the night club, trying to stay away from creeps and the main action on the neon coloured dance floor. They were all pretty cute, but the shortest one was absolutely stunning. 

Her hair was probably close to a dark brown or black shade. Her eyes were a warm brown colour and she had an amazing, curved body shape which was outline by her skin tight, ruby red dress.

_Fantastic_ , Danny thought to himself, and so did his lower region.

The girl suddenly looked over in Danny's direction and waved at him with a quick smile. She then started whispering to her group of girls, each one of them looking at him every so often. Good or bad thing? To be honest, he was completely unsure what the answer would be but he felt like he would just let God work his strange and wonderful magic tonight.

He turned his attention back to his drink and swished it around in its glass before drinking half of it. She could be the best thing in the world or the biggest mistake he has ever made, so he should be prepared to drink until he can't remember shit.

He then heard some movement next to him so he turned his head round to investigate what it was. What a surprise, the girl had just sat down next to him.

Danny could feel the blush starting to appear on his cheeks but it tried to ignore it. Her hair was in two split braids and she was really really tiny but it was a cute tiny. She was also madly blushing so Danny happily took this as a sign that she liked him back.

"Hey," She whispered like she was confronting her high school crush. Her voice was sweet and not too high pitched.

Danny chuckled to himself. "Hey, you seem a bit nervous." Danny told her, playfulness bouncing of his voice.

"Y-yeah," She muttered. "Okay," She took a breather, "my name is Reese, what's yours?" Reese looked up at Danny for the first time and stared deep into his golden soul, her eyes shining with hope.

"I'm Danny, nice to meet you." Danny smiled and relaxed, she seemed rather nice.

"You are very hot, if I say so myself." She spoke more confidently but kept the sweet tone to her voice.

"And you are very cute," Danny ran his thumb across her jaw line. This sort of flirting seems to be going fine for Danny.

She laughed, becoming even more embarrassed.

"So why are you here? Me and my girls come here often and I've never seen you about." The short girl asked, never breaking eye contact with Danny through out their whole conversation.

"I'm apart of a band." Danny smiled. "We are touring around different states at the moment, this is actually our last stop." Danny broke the eye contact and looked over to see his fellow band members watching him from a distance like a bunch of teenage girls.

"We are going to stay here for 4 more nights before going back to California." Danny looked back at the girl, her eyes now filling with sadness.

"Well, could I at least have your number?" She cheekily asked as she pulled her phone out of her shoulder bag.

Danny grinned and quickly put his number in when the phone was handed to him.

"You don't have to go back to your pack of females straight away, do you?" He then asked in return, cocking his head to the side,his brain starting to cloud over with lust.

"No, I don't." 

Danny smirked and stood up. He wasn't the tallest but at least he could enjoy his glory of feeling tall around Reese for a couple more minutes. His figure was only 5'9.5 to a 5'10, but he made up for it in personality and muscle. 

He placed his arm round Reese as the two walked out of the bar, both slightly laughing.

\-----------------------------------

\---Danny---

"After that night, the two of us kept in contact and most of our time would be dedicated to talking to each other. I guess you could say we were addicted to each other." Danny continued telling his story to the other people, the majority of them deeply immersed by now. "In the end, we started dating and she soon moved in with me after 4 months. We lived in a average sized apartment which i shared with a band member. He was perfectly fine with sharing a place with her, well, he actually moved out after 2 months so it was just us two in the end." Danny stopped talking, his mind going blank. "I can't recall what happened in the time period after that but I do remember that she wanted to tell me something around 6 months after she moved in..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

Danny stretched out on the sofa, feeling rather full from the Chinese takeaway he has just devoured. He looked at his stomach, how long would it take for him to burn that off. He just sighed and turned the TV on, slowly browsing through the different channels.

Burning the calories off can wait till later, all he wanted to do was cuddle with his girlfriend on the couch for the rest of the night and watch a movie.

Speaking of the woman, where was Reese?

She just said she was going to take a quick piss, she's been gone for 20 minutes. 

Is she alright? Did somethi-

"Danny," The voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked over his shoulder and saw Reese walk into the living room.

"Yes, my love?" 

"Danny, we need to talk." Reese walked closer to him, her voice filled with fear.

"Wha-what is it?" Danny sat up straight, fear growing inside of him. Was she splitting up with him? What did he do wrong?

Reese went and sat down next to Danny, holding something in her hands with a tight grip. She refused to make eye constant, seeming like she had done something wrong.

"What is it Reese?" He asked again, becoming even more concerned.

"I'm..." She started shaking slightly. "I'm..." She stared into the taller mans brown eyes."Danny, I'm pregnant." She looked like she was about to cry, and that's what she exactly did.

The small woman buried her head in her hands and she passed the pregnancy test to Danny, her sobs becoming a loud, depressing muffle.

Danny was shocked and terrified yet he still wrapped his arms around her. "Shhh, it's okay Ree-"

"It's not okay! We're not fit for a family. I don't have a job at the moment and you don't get payed much yourself!" She looked back up at Danny.

"That doesn't matter, we can sort that out later. Look, do you want this child?" Danny asked. "Would you love this child with your whole heart?"

Reese paused for a moment and then slowly nodded, "I've always wanted a family from a young age." She sniffled, sadly smiling to herself.

"Let's keep it and see what happens, if we are sure that we can't handle the child then we have some time to get it aborted." Danny gave Reese a comforting smile as he placed her hand on her stomach. "We can get through this together."

Reese chuckled to herself, the tears stopping. She put her hand over Danny's. "We'll get through this as a family..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Danny---

Danny sighed, he wished that it was that simple.

It was really easier said then done.

"We basically argued a couple times about the baby but we knew deep down that there was no way that we wouldn't terminate it." Danny noticed that the scary eyed man and the one with stretched ears kept looking at each other, like they were trying to identify each other. Maybe they already remembered? But they both looked really confused.

Oh well, this is his story at the moment, not theirs.

"After we knew that termination could not be an option because we waited too long, our relationship got better. We tried to make ourselves more 'suitable' parents for this kid. We knew we wouldn't be the best but it's the effort that counts, right?"

He gave a cheeky smile.

"It was November when she was born..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

The frosty air smacked and swirled around Danny's shivering body but that didn't matter.

Reese has just gone into labour and he had to quickly get to the hospital. His only problem was that his car had broken down. He ended up having to run up to the hospital in the end, that was the only way to make it in time.

Danny walked through the entrance and walked up to the reception desk. "I'm here for Teresa, she should be in labour." Danny frantically asked.

"Alright, sonny boy, are you family or what?" The old looking woman asked.

"I'm her boyfriend." 

"Okay, you just need to sign he-"

Danny quickly grabbed the pen and signed in the place needed.

"Fair enough, she's on the 2nd floor." The woman pointed down the corridor.

"Thanks" Danny muttered as he ran down the hallway then up the flight of stairs.

He really wasn't going to miss his girlfriend push another human out of her vagina, so he made sure he ran as quick as his legs could carry him. Danny walked into her hospital room and was instantly met with his partner groaning in pain and heavy breathing. He scurried over to her and held her hand.

"Took you long enough." She muttered.

"Shhh, it will be okay," Danny stroked her hair which surprisingly calmed her down slightly.

She has been in labour for around 2 hours now. Reese was ready to give up but the doctors rejected the idea every time she brought it up.

"Fuck, Danny it feels like I'm going to die." She had an arm over her eyes as she complained. Her hand was tightly clenched around Danny's hand and it had been since Danny arrived. 

It was unusual to hear her swear, she rarely done it at home and they only times she would was when something really bad happen or if Danny pushed all of her buttons right in bed.

After another hour and a half of struggling and vigorous swearing, a little girl was born.

Danny's eyes lit up with excitement.

This was _his_ little girl.

This was _his_ own flesh and blood.

"Scarlett..." He muttered to himself as he heard her starting to cry.

Reese looked at him and tiredly smiled while looking proud at the same time.

"This is our family." Danny said calmly as Scarlett was given back to Reese to hold. He bent down and gave Reese a kiss on the lips.

Nothing would break their family.

Nothing.

\-----------------------------------

\---Danny---

"After a couple more hours at the hospital, we were finally aloud to take her home. We took good care of her, we tried to be the best parents we could be." Danny continued talking, still wondering why this was coming back to him suddenly. "I was able to continue my job and everything was perfect. My pay became better and I eventually proposed to Reese." Danny smiled. "Life was normal for the next 5 years, Scarlett grew bigger and bigger by the day and Reese was becoming happier and happier." Danny paused, a sense of dread over coming him. "But one day when I was at band practise, something went terribly wrong..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

Laughter erupted from the small room.

"Wait, let me try this!" Danny giggled and played a tune on his guitar and waited for the others to sing something stupid.

The others were thinking what would go along with the best. Danny grinned, this proved to be a challenge for their drunk minds.

Then all of a sudden, pain.

A pain ripped through Danny's chest.

He dropped the guitar and clutched his chest.

It felt like something was trying to tear its way out of hit chest, like something was living inside of him. 

What the hell?

He felt his body going weak, his mind becoming blurrier and blurrier. Then, his legs gave way, sending him crashing to the ground, smacking his head against a box. The muffled shouts of his band members were eventually becoming fainter and fainter the longer he was lying there, all sense of feeling flushed from him.

What was happening?

Everything suddenly became dark.

He heard nothing, he saw nothing, he smelt nothing, he touched nothing and he could taste nothing.

Then, there was a bright light.

His eyes shot open.

A beeping noise was distant and there were doctors and nurses standing round him, sticking needles and weird devices in him.

"What a coincidence, this is the same bed his uncle died in." He heard a faint voice say to someone else.

His uncle...?

Another pain unexpectedly struck Danny in his chest, making him lose his breath for a moment, well, it was more then a moment. He lost his breath completely, leaving his body to try its best to stay alive.

He gasped for air, his eyes widening as he became even more light headed then before.

His body was frantically shaking, convulsing at every electrical signal going through his body, his muscles all tensing up.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

He clawed at the bed sheet, trying to desperately grab on to it.

Beep.

Beep.

He saw the people standing around him, running at quick paces back and forth from his bed to somewhere else to try and save him.

_Too late._

Beeeeeeeeeeep.

That was it.

That's the last thing he heard.

That's the last breathe he took.

Those were the last people he would ever see.

What about his wife?

What about his daughter?

What about his life?

\-----------------------------------

\---Danny---

"My death was quick and kinda painful." Danny looked round at the other people.

"So how did you die?" The brown eyed man sitting next to him asked.

"I had a heart attack and some how survived but was left very weak. Then in hospital my lungs collapsed due to my smoking problem."

"Oh gosh," The man replied, putting a hand over his mouth

"My uncle..." Danny muttered to himself again. "I remember my uncle died when I was young but when he was alive, we got on really well. He belonged on my mothers side and his name was something like..."

"Dylan Alvarez..."

"Huh?" The brown man said confused. "Wait what was his name?"

"Dylan Alvarez." Danny repeated with confidence.

"But that's my name..." He paused, eyes widening. 

It looked like all of his memories had just flooded back into him.

"Dylan," The chairman chuckled as he turned his attention to the one he was talking to.

"Why don't you tell us your story?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think y'all can see where this is going. I would also like to add I heavily foreshadow events throughout all my chapters so watch out for what I say at times. Heheheheh. Btw Danny died in 2011


	3. Dylan's Disbelief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2918 words. Sorry this too a long time. I have limited time writing these chapters. I also guess I should say rape warning for this chapter. If the rape scene ain't good it's because this is the first sex or rape scene I've ever written.

\---Dyaln---

"I'm Dylan Peter Alvarez, I was born on the 11th of April 1961. I grew up in Mexico but when I was 15 we moved over to the outskirts of California." Dylan started talking. "Because I grew up in Mexico and my dad was Mexican, I can speak Mexican-Spanish, it's called something like that. My family wasn't the richest but we got past the days just fine by coming up with different types of games 'n shit. My siblings were pretty chill. I didn't do the best in school but it didn't really matter back then. I did drop out of high school when I was 16." Dylan kept rambling on, making scary eyes sigh in annoyance.

Dylan gulped, slightly terrified of the other man. Well, it was more then slightly, but you should get my point.

"I could never get a real job because I never graduated secondary school. They also disliked me because of my Mexican roots." He spoke with annoyance in his tone, clearly unhappy about the situation. "They thought I would steal everything and rape everybody in the work place. "I didn't want to seem like a burden to my parents. Even though they didn't care I was still living with them, I just wanted my own place to live so I resorted to trying to find multiple jobs. I only wanted the money, I didn't care about to job so much..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

Dylan rushed down the alley. He couldn't believe he was going to do this. There should surely be an easier way to get money.

Dylan stopped at the entrance of the Main Street. He just needed to wait here until his customer arrived so their needs could be fulfilled. The Mexican shivered, this person murder him or he could be kidnapped. What the fuck was he doing?

A figure with a hood pulled over his head walked up to Dylan. He was probably up to Dylan's chin and he had a slim and weak looking body.

"So, you must be Dilly?" The person chuckled, pulling his hood down to reveal a scar ridden face and black, greasy, spiky hair.

Dylan gulped and just nodded.

"Look-" The man grabbed Dylan by his chin and pulled him down far enough so Dylan had to look straight up to see the others face. "I don't want you making a fuss with this, we get it over and done with then I give you the money. Got that?" 

Dylan nodded again, too terrified to do anything else.

"Good," The man bitterly chuckled.

This was his life now, just another male prostitute.

\-----------------------------------

\---Dylan---

"That went on for a while, at least 4 years." Dylan was embarrassed to admit it but it was true. He started when he was 18. I-I finally stopped this 'job' after I was found raped and beaten." His voice went shaky as the memories swarmed back into his head "It was the same bloke as before..." Dylan paused for a second before continuing.

He went quiet and looked around the room.

The others were looking at him shocked.

Danny looked at Dylan with sympathy in his eyes.

"I didn't die from that." He continued with a sigh. "I lived through it but I couldn't tell anybody, I couldn't tell the police." He bitterly grumbled. "They don't give a shit about rape, let alone a male being raped. A man found me in the streets. I can't remember what he looked like but he helped me."

Dylan studied everyone's face in the room. Maybe there was a chance that one of these men was the one who helped him.

Danny had brown eyes, not blue.

The man with curly hair has black hair, not brown hair.

The skinny one's face is too long, it's not chubby enough.

The stretched ear man has too much dread in his eyes, there wasn't not enough happiness.

The scary eyed one is defiantly too tall, he wasn't short enough.

The blue eyed, brown haired, chubby faced, short man that had hope in his eyes was too-

Wait.

Was that him?

Dylan shook the thought away and continued.

"This man helped me recover, he listened to my story and helped me with my nightmares." Dylan smiled to himself.

"He really was a sweet guy..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

Dylan was awoken by the noise of a door opening.

"How are you?" A sweet voice asked Dylan.

Dylan groaned and stretched out on the sofa he was lying on.

"I feel like shit, but I guess I'm better from last time." He stared at the ceiling, wondering if he would of been dead if the other hadn't found him.

The figure walked into the Dylan's view. He was short, maybe 5'7, and he had dark brown hair which was pushed under a snap back. 

Dylan looked at his face. 

He couldn't remember it.

It was just blurry.

The figure then made his way over to Dylan and lifted Dylan's legs up, placing himself under them and letting the legs rest on his lap.

Dylan smiled. What did he do to deserve this man?

"Is it okay if I sleep again?" Dylan asked. After being raped, he became really anxious. He always had to check if he could do something, even the simplest of things like getting a glass of water or going to the bathroom.

"Of course it's fine Dilly, sleep as much as you want."

Dylan shut his eyes, relaxation spreading through out his body.

Everything was okay.

Nothing was wrong.

He was in his new home.

He was with someone that cared about him.

He wasn't going to be beaten again.

He wasn't going to be raped again.

He was safe.

.

.

.

Or was he?

Would his friend turn on him?

Would his friend take advantage of him being weak?

Would his friend rat him out to everyone in town?

Would his friend betray him?

Would his friend just be another waste of space?

Would his friend rape him and make sure the job was finished for good?

Dylan didn't want to imagine that.

It was horrible.

Every scratch.

Every bite. 

Every punch.

Every kick.

He didn't want to live through it again.

 

No he didn't.

No he didn't.

No.

No.

NO! 

.

.

.

Dylan's eyes opened up.

He attempted to choke back his tears. He needed to. He can't be weak again.

"Dylan, did you have anoth-" Before the other could finish talking, Dylan lunged at him with a hug.

The man responded with wrapping his arms around Dylan, slowly swaying him side to side.

Dylan just let it all out. Every tear drop was soaking up in the others t-shirt.

"Shhh, shhh, it's okay." The man attempted to calm Dylan down with his angelic like words. "I won't hurt you, I'm not like him." This nightmare and these thoughts had appeared before, it was horrible but Dylan couldn't get rid of them. They always haunted his mind. "I won't let anyone hurt you again,"

"I swear on my life..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Dylan---

"I can't emphasise how great he was. He was patient with my issues and he made sure I was feeling comfortable at all times." Dylan was very grateful for what the man had done."Once I was healed up properly, I was accepted into a real job for once. I worked in a restaurant with my friend so we were never truly apart. We worked there for around a year until he sat me down and told me that he needed to have a chat with me..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

"What did you need to tell me?" Dylan sat across from the other man. They were in their apartment, which they shared, and both of them were currently placed on their second-hand sofas.

"Dylan," Dylan got scared. What had he done wrong this time? "They," The man paused and broke eye contact. He looked at the ground, his body already shaking. "T-they found out I had two tumours growing in my brain." The man said before breaking down.

"Wha-what. You're joking, right?" Dylan asked as he felt the tears build up in him.

"I'm not joking. They said that the tumours probably explain why I'm having difficulty moving my limbs around recently, it's apparently affecting my nerves but they are unsure."

"I'll help you." Dylan blurted out.

The man looked at Dylan and cocked his eye brow. "How?"

"You helped me, I'll help you. I'll help you pay your medical bills."

"No no, you can't do that."

"I will and you can't stop me."

Dylan stood up. He grabbed his wallet and opened up the front door.

"I'll make sure you live a long and happy life..." 

\-----------------------------------

\---Dylan--- 

"I done what ever I could to get money. I went from working lots of shifts, to taking on 4 different jobs and then to selling drugs. I really regret the last job. It was dangerous but I took the risk. Everyday my friend was getting worse." Dylan changed the subject, trying to forget about 'the streets. "I would visit him once every two days and each time I went, he told me he could no longer move his finger or no longer move his leg. It was sad, my friend was slowly dying because of this disease and he was drowning in mountains of debt. I badly wanted to help so that's what I did." Dylan looked down at the floor, shame entering his eyes. 

"It didn't go to plan. Everything went wrong that night. My plan failed."

"My plan costed me my life..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

It was a stab, grab and run.

It was a simple plan. Well, it should of been.

Dylan walked down the damp street, the wind quietly whispering to him about all the bad things he had done to get money. Dylan didn't want his friend to sink deeper into debt. He wouldn't let it happen.

A short figure approached Dylan and Dylan guessed that this is the man he needed.

"Alright, we have to make this a quick trade. What do ya need?" The man spoke with a weird accent, probably not American.

"What do you have?"

The smaller man grunted as he pulled his backpack of his shoulders and opened it up, letting Dylan look in.

There was just piles of different types of drugs- powders, pills, needles. All of it.

Perfect.

"Can I have-" Before Dylan finished, he pulled a knife out and rammed it into the others neck. It defiantly hit an vein as blood was spewing out everywhere.

Dylan was freaked out, what the fuck had he done?

He shoved the thought away and grabbed the rucksack, making sure it was zipped up before running away. He needed to get out quick. He needed to get back home. He needed to live.

Dylan sprinted down the alleyway, not looking back. 

It seemed like it would never fucking end.

His legs were getting tired by the minute. He was not eating or drinking to try and save more money. >None of this was for him and he really wished people would understand that. 

But no one wo-

Hold up.

Fear flooded Dylan's body.

There was a person standing a few metres in front of him, a shotgun in hand.

Dylan halted, the only sound present was breathing.

"Hand it over." The voice was deep and scratchy.

Dylan walked up to him to give him the bag.

Well, that's what he thought.

As the man was about to take the bag, Dylan jumped to the side and sprinted off again.

He heard the man shout loudly along with his loud, heavy footsteps too. 

He would never stop running, he couldn't, he need to li-

Bang.

Dylan's body went crashing to the floor, the bag of drugs flying out of his hands.

Another figure walked down the way Dylan was running, another shotgun in hand.

The figure stood over Dylan, the shotgun cocked and pointed at his chest.

Bang.

Dylan screamed as the bullet ripped through his flesh. He scraped his blunt nails across the floor- like it would somehow help.

Bang.

Dylan's screams faded. All was left was him grasping onto his last gasps of breath.

His vision went blurry. His breaths slowed down. His chest went numb. His blood dripped from his body to the ground. He lost feeling in his legs, then his arms. 

He lost his friend.

He lost his life.

He lost everything.

Friends.

Family.

It's gone.

Forever.

Dylan shut his eyes in defeat, letting his life just slip away from his eyes.

"I- im sorry..." Dylan spluttered out along with the blood in his mouth. "I-I'm s-so sorry-" The tears were streaming down his face.

"Jordon..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Dylan---

"I was 24 when I died. I actually was actually kinda alive when they found me so they took me to hospital. I died though of excessive blood loss. 1985, what an uneventful year." Dylan looked at Danny. "I remember seeing you when you were tiny, you were so cute and you still are." Dylan pinched Danny's cheek which just annoyed him.

Dylan then looked at the man who he speculated could be his old friend.

"You," He pointed at him.

"Me?" The man replied. His voice sounded so familiar to Dylan.

"What's your name?"

"Jordon" He replied in an almost confused tone.

"You! You were the one who helped me! I knew it!" Dylan shouted.

"What? I don't kno-" Jordon paused. Dylan guessed he was remembering his life.

A chuckle interrupted their bonding section.

"Well," The chairmans voice was filled with delight. "You can guess what I'm going to say but,"

"Jordon, tell us your story."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw in the next chapter, Dylan's and Jordons's friendship will be explained more along with the brain tumours so just wait. Also, how tall are y'all? I'm nearly 5'10.


	4. Jordon's Balance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, 4506 words. This is a long chapter. Fun to write though. Thanks y'all for putting up with me taking forever to update

\---Jordon---

"My name is Jordon Kristopher Terrell, I was born on the 3rd of September 1960 and I died when I was 25." Jordon probably sounded too happy to be telling his story but he was actually glad to be talking to real people, not just nurses and doctors. Me and my family grew up in Cali, blah blah blah." He wasn't too interested in his childhood if you can't tell. We lived in a normal sized house and all that shit, I got along with my siblings, had friends, was the class clown, I had a pretty chill childhood." Jordon rambled on. There was a problem though, we didn't know what is was when I was younger but it defiantly played a major role in my adulthood..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

"Jordon! Kick the ball over here!" A small child shouted at the other one.

Jordon smiled and booted the football to his friend.

It was just a normal breaktime at school, 9 year old Jordon was playing with his friends and classmates

Jordon watched the ball be kicked back and forth and back and forth. No one really won these matches, they either ran out of time or both sides were too good to loose but the ball was getting dangerously close to Jordon's goal and he wasn't ready to loose. He sprinted over in an attempt to stop the-

Jordon's small body smashed to the ground with a thud.

Why did he fall? There's nothing to trip up on.

Tears welled up in his soft, baby blue eyes.

He could hear the murmurs and footsteps of the other students as they surrounded him.

"Jordon? Jordon are you okay?" One of the many teachers knelt down beside him.

He sniffed and looked up at the teacher then back down at his knees.

They were scraped up pretty bad, small specks of blood were splattered on the playground's cement floor.

The teacher held her hand out and let Jordon use it to stand up. His legs were shaking terribly.

His eyes clouded over with sadness, would this ever stop?

\-----------------------------------

\---Jordon--- 

"This falling over thing had always been going on. It started out small and it just kept getting worse as I grew older." Jordon continued. "I always thought it would go away but it never did." Jordon murmured out loud. "Anyway, I graduated high school fine, didn't get the best grades but eh, it was good enough for me." 

Jordon stopped for a moment and tapped his fingers on his chair leg, sitting up straight in the process. 

Thinking about it, this was rather awkward. Each one had to say how they lived their lives and what their morals and beliefs were.

What if one of them had bad experiences with their home life? What if one of them died a tragic death? What if one of them was a son of a massive and dangerous criminal? What if one of them just lost his mind and murdered everyone he loved?

The possibilities were endless, and Jordon decided he didn't want to think about it anymore.

"Because of this falling over thing, I made sure I had an job that didn't require to much walking around." It was partly true.

Well...

It honestly wasn't.

"I was a waiter at a cheap restaurant that served rotten food." 

The others looked at him confused, they were probably thinking that being a waiter wasn't the best idea.

"I was actually good at my job, I rarely slipped up." He paused and looked around at the room, all of the others eyes challenging his statement. " Okay then, slip ups were more often then not but it wasn't that bad..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

"JORDON! ORDER TO TABLE 12!" The voice rung throughout the cramped kitchen.

No response.

.

.

.

"JORDON GET YOUR ARSE OVER HERE BEFORE I RAM THIS NON-STICK PAN UP IT" If you couldn't guess, this is a British chef that originally came here for experience but decided to 'try' and 'help' this failing place.

Jordon slowly made his way to the counter top where two plates of food were waiting for him to take away.

"God! Your taking as long as the queen is with getting into her deathbed!" Some snickers came from the kitchen. 2 other dickhead chefs lived in there and only stayed for the pure banter and the strings of insults. The British chef grabbed a rusty pan and threw it at Jordon. Jordon simply moved out the way and smacked his arse as an insult before quickly grabbing the food and walking off.

Jordon shuffled down the poorly decorated hallway. Fucking hell, one day these walls would be finally repainted. One day.

He entered the empty dining room and looked around.

Where the fuck was the customers?

Jordon stopped and thought about it.

It was probably another group of kids doing the same old shit. The restaurant was going out of business, these teenagers were only letting their hopes down of this shithole staying alive.

Jordon grumbled to himself and walked back down the depressing hallway. Why are people trying to ru-

And it happened again.

Jordon's legs collapsed on themselves, clearly they aren't giving a shit that he has a job to do and bills to pay.

"Frick frack fuck.." He tried to push himself up and off the floor but failed. His body struck the floor again with a thump.

"Yo Jordy you okay bro?" One of the chefs stumbled over to Jordon and touched his back with his dirty ass shoe.

"I'm fucking fantastic." Jordon said with a bit more then a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Good." The chef missed the point completely and walked off.

"Fucking dick gobbler." Jordon mumbled to himself as he shakily stood up.

Maybe something was wrong. This thing has gone on for too long.

And Jordon had enough it.

\-----------------------------------

\---Jordon---

"After that incident, I was going to try and find out what was wrong with me. I WAS going to but I was stopped." He paused again.

"I was stopped by someone, someone dying in the streets..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

Jordon used his hand to help navigate himself down the alleyway. He didn't fully trust himself walking down a dark alleyway when his legs like to collapse in the worse of situations.

The night air was cold and frosty, he could feel his nipples were about to freeze off. Ice nipples. Nippcicles.

Jordon knew what his business idea was going to be when the restaurant shut dow-

Ah fuck.

Jordon growled.

Really? Fucking really?

He was just trying to solve his futures and now h-

Oh fuck.

Jordon shuffled away when he saw he tripped over a body.

The fuck?

He stood up and stared at the body. The person seemed tall, they had curly, dark brown near black hair. 

They were lying face down on the floor. 

Oh yeah, there was also blood.

There was a lot of blood actually.

The surface under the mans face was splattered with the red liquid.

His ass also seemed to be bleeding.

Jordon took note of the fact that the man was lying there, bloody, trousers pulled down and a bleeding asshole. Jordon guessed what happened to this man. He knelt down next to him and tugged his trousers up to cover his bare ass.

Jordon should probably check his pulse, that may help.

Bump

Bump

Bump

.

 

.

 

.

Bump

Yeah, he was alive. His pulse wasn't steady but at least he had one. 

Jordon moved the unconscious man's body to a sitting position before checking his face. A large split was present across the mans nose, along with a scratched forehead and cheeks. Sympathy quickly overrode Jordon.

He couldn't leave him here, but he couldn't take him home.

It was too far away.

 _Fuck it,_ he thought.

Jordon picked up the man bridal style. He weighed Jordon's fragile arms down, but that didn't matter as adrenaline was pumping through his system at 200mph. It was against his rule to let anyone die on his watch.

Fuck, it's against his rule to let anyone stay hurt. Jordon promised this man that his secret will be kept safe.

Being raped is embarrassing, let alone being a male rape victim. It's a sign of weakness, is what Jordon's mother would say but Jordon himself didn't care, he wanted to make sure that this man would at least heal up a bit before seeking help or leaving his home.

Jordon trekked down the alleyway, no one would hurt this man again.

Not on his watch.

\-----------------------------------

\---Jordon---

"I dragged the man back to my apartment and left him to rest on my couch for a while. He was dead asleep for 2 days before coming back to reality." Jordon looked over to Dylan, he defiantly looked much more healthier then he was when he found him.

"The way he acted..." Jordon looked away from the man and looked at everyone else again."The way he acted was rather confusing for me and him, to say the least..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

Jordon sat opposite the sleeping man on his sofa. Jordon was getting worried about this person. They had been sleeping for the past how many days with barley any movement, he wouldn't respond to light or anything as well. Different possibilities were racing through his mind.

Was this man safe? Was he well enough to wake up? Was he in a coma? God, he really hoped not. That would be the worst scenario. People don't always wake up from comas. People die when they are in comas. Would Jordon be arrested for his death? Would they think he murdered the other? Would they blame him for not taking him to the hospital?Fuck, what had he gotten himself into?

The person shifted and rolled onto their side, facing away from Jordon.

Maybe they wouldn't die, he hoped he wouldn't.

A sigh escaped Jordon's small body. He shouldn't just be standing around and doing nothing, chores are needed to be completed.

He stood up. A simple task but he had to be careful.

Another sigh escaped him as he stumbled over to the kitchen area. It was next to the living room so he could keep an eye on the mysterious man. He walked to the sink and started running the hot water. Dishes should be done first, he hadn't done them in probably over a month. Oh well, he had nothing to loose. He grabbed the soap and dumped around half of it into the sink, he'd need it with the amount of washing needed to be done. 

Jordon's curious eyes glanced back over at the figure, watching the man's chest rise and go back down. It was rather mesmerising to watch.

No, Jordon. Das gay.

He tore his 'innocent' blue eyes away from the man beefy body and went back to washing up.

He picked up a plate and placed it into the hot soapy wat- and he didn't put the plug in the sink.

"For fucks sake!" He shouted, totally forgetting the snoozing man only a couple metres away.

"Huh?" A confused, sleepy voice emerged from the shout.

"Whe- where the fuck am I?" The man kicked the blanket off him after sitting up straight. He drastically looked around, immediately seeing Jordon.

They made horribly awkward eye contact for a minute.

"Who... are you?" The man placed on the sofa asked with concern filling his voice. "Is this his lair? Do you work for him?" He became suddenly frantic, like he had done something horribly wrong.

"What? No. I was walking through the streets and I found you dying." The man's body relaxed a tiny bit, why though?

"I couldn't let you die so I dragged you back to here."

"Oh, thanks... I guess." The confusion had taken over his voice.

Now commence the awkward silence.

The man looked away from Jordon and blushed. Aww, he's rather cute.

No, Jordon, Again, das gay.

"Ummm, you can stay here as long as you want. You seem pretty weak at the moment and I don't want you getting hurt no more so please relax." Jordon watched the man shift uncomfortably in his seat."By the way, if it helps, my name is Jordon."

"Oh, my name is Dylan." The man replied.

"Cool." Jordon responded as he placed the plug hole into the sink.

He repeated the steps before, hot water, soap, blah blah blah. As he was scrubbing at the plates, Dylan started talking to Jordon.

"So, where do you work?" The curious man asked.

"At a shitty restaurant down the road. It isn't the best pay but it's good enough for me." Jordon pulled the now stain-free plate out of the water and placed it on the drying rack. 

"Huh, could they do with anymore employees? I really need a job that isn't..." He paused and looked at himself. "as risky."

"I'm sure boss wouldn't mind having someone new the crew, you might be able to get more people to actually buy food and not just ditch it without paying." Jordon looked over at Dylan to see him sadly smiling to himself.

"Good, I'll take any work." Dylan spoke as he looked up at the ceiling, clearly distracted by something. "Oh, and thanks for saving my ass. I honestly didn't know if I was going to die back there." Dylan turned his body round to look at Jordon.

"No problem my dude...

No problem at all..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Jordon---

"Yah, so we kinda got to know each other better and it was all good." Jordon glanced at Dylan again and received a grin from the Mexican. "He got the job quickly which was good, more customers came as they couldn't resist his wonderful muscles that bulged through his orange uniform." Jordon jokingly remarked, he missed the fun days at the restaurant. There wasn't a care in the world there. "I think he worked there for around a year before I broke the news to him..." Jordon stopped talking, his eyes suddenly turning sad.

"?" Danny made a confused noise at the chubby man.

"I finally decided to try and find out what was wrong with me again. It took a while to get the results, around a year or so, but it wasn't good." Jordon looked away from everyone, only staring at the floor in what-it-seemed shame."If you weren't listening to Dylan's side of the story, they found two tumours in my brain. Apparently, the first one had been there since I was a child but this second one was more violent and was growing at a much quicker pace. The doctors were concerned about my health, they honestly didn't know when it was going to kill me." Jordon's eyes wandered back over to Dylan."I was scared but I stayed calm, I didn't want to frighten anyone more then they were already. I kept it up for a couple or months or so until..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

Jordon stomped through the halls of the restaurant. They'd fucking lowered his paycheck, again! After all this time he has worked here and that's what he gets in return? Fucking bunch of cheap asses.

He walked to the kitchen to spread the news.

"Oi guys! You won't believe thi-" It happened again. His legs collapsed, sending him falling to the floor. 

Crash.

Jordon smashed his head on to the stone cold metal counter, possibly splitting it open. 

"Oh shit- what the fuck?- Jordon, bro?" A hoard of different voices crowded his mind, couldn't they shut the fuck up?

He tried to the push himself up but he couldn't. No, he couldn't move his right arm.

Jordon had no time to think about this, darkness soon came storming over his vision. 

The last thing he heard was sirens. Lots of them.

 

.

 

.

 

.

"Ughhh..." Jordon groaned at the large, bright, white light shining in his face.

He turned his head from the light but it was still there. Jordon didn't want to face the real world at the moment. He just wanted to drift off in a deep sleep forever and ever. Well, it was tough tits for Jordon as his eyes slowly pried open. 

A groan left his body as he looked at his surroundings.

Bright light, beeping noise, quiet mutter, doors opening and closing.

The feeling of eyes watching him from a distance.

Yeah, if you haven't realised, he is in the wonderful place called a hospital.

He moaned to himself, for fucks sake, would he ever get a break? He went to lift his arm up but failed. He tried again and again and again.

"What the?" Using all the might that was in his body, he pushed his arm up.

Well, that's what he hoped.

That in fact didn't happen, his arm stayed lying there, not moving even a centimetre over.

"You're awake now, that's a good sign." A short doctor walked into the room, he probably stood at 5'2. 

"Finally, someone shorter then me." Jordon muttered to himself.

The man gave Jordon the shit eye before walking over to him and giving a check on all his vitals.

"Alright, basically, you have 4 stitches on your forehead as it kinda cracked open, we saw the report about the tumours so I have to ask some questions." The man sat down on the edge of Jordon's bed. "Can you move all your limbs?" He asked first.

"Umm, I can't move right arm." 

"Like the whole arm?" The doctor asked, not seeming that bothered with this matter.

"Yeah." Jordon simply replied.

The doctor grabbed the arm and twisted it around a bit.

"Well then, bad news, this tumour is most likely affecting your nervous system, meaning that your body will start to shut down, limb by limb, organ by organ." The man quickly said. "Have fun." He sarcastically remarked before getting up and walking out of the room.

 _What a fucking lovely dude_ , Jordon thought to himself. Jordon didn't even get his name so it was no use complaining to the higher ups.

So would this be his life now? Rotting away in a hospital? 

He hoped not.

\-----------------------------------

\---Jordon---

"Everything went down hill on from there. My mum spent most of her time with me, my father died from the stress a couple months after I was hospitalised, my hospital bills were skyrocketing and I couldn't pay any of my taxes." Jordon sounded sad, remembering all the times he watched his mother cry as she sat by his side or Dylan sitting there, clenching Jordon's only good hand.

"Dylan promised me he would help to pay the bills. I told him not to but he still did." Jordon twisted his head back round to Dylan."You went through so much shit." He muttered before looking at the others again."I remember you told me what type of jobs you done, cashiering, waitering, car cleaning, you even went back to prostitution. I felt fucking horrible the whole time. I was just lying there, slowly become more and more less able while you were busting your ass out there just to help me. I never thought I deserved it but I couldn't stop you, no one could." Jordon looked at the grey coloured stone walls."Your death was my fault, I even remember when the police walked in and told me about it..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

Jordon watched the nurses and doctors look scared. What was the problem? Dylan hadn't visited this morning and they wouldn't tell him why.

Was it bad? He hoped not.

It wasn't like he could of stopped it, all mobility was lost in the lower half of his body, including his right arm. He could barely move his head or his left hand which was rather concerning.

"You're Jordon Terrell, correct?" A policeman walked into the room.

"Yes I am." Jordon answered, anxiety building up in his limp body.

The policeman sat down on a chair close to Jordon's bed.

"You were friends with Dylan Peter Alvarez, correct?" He looked at all the equipment that had been jabbed into Jordon's body, obviously trying to avoid eye contact.

p>"Yes." Jordon felt even more nervous now, his good hand already shaking.

"We are sorry to say this but..." The policeman looked at Jordon straight in the eyes. "He was found shot to death in a stretch of gang territory dubbed 'The Killing Zone'." The policeman hastily said.

"Wh-what? You're joking right?" Tears started to well up in Jordon's light blue eyes. 

"I'm so sorry," The policeman pulled off his hat in respect of the death. "He bled out from being shot three times in the chest." He refused to make eye contact with Jordon but that was fine. Jordon was staring, wide eyed, into the wall a couple metres in front of his bed.

"No..." Tears slowly trickled down his face.

This couldn't be real. It couldn't. Dylan couldn't be dead. Dylan was everything to Jordon. He couldn't loose him this easily.

"No.." He repeated, the tears running down his slight unshaven face at a quicker pace.

He could do nothing. 

 

He couldn't wipe his tears away. 

 

He couldn't hide.

 

He couldn't reach out for help.

 

He couldn't get a hug from his mother.

 

He couldn't save his friend.

 

Jordon broke down, hysterically sobbing.

All noise was blocked out. 

 

He couldn't hear the police officer trying to calm him.

 

He couldn't hear the frantic nurses try to stabilise him.

 

He couldn't hear his mothers soft words be spoken to him.

 

He couldn't hear his heartbeat machine go rapid.

 

He couldn't hear the nurses inject some calmative into his blood stream.

 

He couldn't hear the whispering of his family as he drifted off into sleep.

 

He could only hear the comforting words of Dylan, telling him to relax and that he will be watching over Jordon's poor soul.

_'Don't worry'_

 

 _'Everything will be_

 

_fine,"_

\-----------------------------------

\---Jordon---

Jordon sighed, he really didn't want to remember that night. "After the event, I fell into a stage of depression that didn't want to leave. I was on even more medication then before and nothing was saving me. I lost control in the rest of my body, I could basically only blink and hardly breathe. That was it. I was always linked up to a shit tonne of machines, the beeping and wheezing just got annoying as time went on." He started tapping his fingers on the arm chair again, it was oddly calming. "The final day... The final day was on the 8th of July 1986. It was a lovely day, the sun was shinning and the birds was tweeting but I guess that God had other plans for that fateful day..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

"And I had lunch with Linda, do you remember her from nursery?" Jordon's mother rambled on. She done this a lot, trying to distract Jordon from thinking about his doom too much.

She was a tiny woman with warm, blue eyes and brown hair. Her face was rounded like Jordon's and that was only one of the similarities they shared. He missed his father, he missed the jokes and the stories about the war. Near the end of WW2, his father was forced to sign up as a young soldier. He never went through any of the real gruesome events, but he sure heard of them. 

He saw his mother hold his hand and slowly run her thumb over his. Of course, he couldn't feel it but it still made him more relaxed.

Recently, something felt like it was going to go wrong. He wasn't sure what but he just knew it wasn't going to end well. And today, that feeling was blossoming all over his motionless body.

He still wasn't adjusted to this way of living. Fuck, he could hardly call it living. He was just lying in a bed for 24 hours, staring at the ceiling, reflecting over all the lost chances in his life and all the lost people. He would never forget Dylan, no matter what. He even asked to be buried next to him when he died, he only hoped that the promise would be kept.

A sigh climbed out of his rib cage, attracting the attention of his mother.

"Please Jordon, don't be so sad. We'll get through this together, as a family." She just gave him a sad smile.

"No we won't, I'm not going to live much longer, I can ju-" His speech was cut short, his breath being lost as a pain went ripping through his body.

"Jordon? Jordon?! JORDON?!?" His mother shouted as his body started convulsing violently.

The nurses ran in, trying to hold him down. That didn't help one bit.

With every aggressive twitch his body made, the more pain grew in his head.

Specifically, his brain.

Twitch.

His body moved and then slammed against the bed. He couldn't control it. It just happened again, and again, and again, and again.

His breathing was getting quicker

And quicker

And quicker

And quicker

His thoughts were getting blurrier 

And blurrier 

And blurrier 

And blurrier

His vision was getting cloudier

And cloudier

And cloudier

And cloudier

The only voice that was clear was his mothers.

"Please Jordon!" She begged. "Remember that story about that soldier that dragged his friend's body back to the village before dying from another air raid? What your father would all ways go on about! You have to be strong like him!" She begged again. "You must be strong Jordon!" She screamed. "You have to be!"

His body stopped moving, it returning back to its calm state. His breathes regulated again. His eyes slightly fluttered open.

"Thank you, mum," The broken words spluttered out of his mouth. " Thank you for everything..." He inhaled one last breath before exhaling. He shut his eyes and listened out one last time.

Silence.

"Jordon? Please, 

 

don't leave me,"

 

Then pure, deadly, silence again.

\-----------------------------------

\---Jordon---

"Yeah, I guess that was my tragic death." Jordon shoved the memories away again in the back of his mind.

"Ohhhhh, that explains why whenever we went to visit Dylan's grave, there was another one next to his that mentioned Dylan as a 'best friend'." Danny suddenly spoke out.

"That's good that I was buried where i wanted to be." Jordon finally let out a sigh of relief, not one of pain or exhaustion.

"Jordon, why don't you tell us a bit more about that soldier?" The chairman asked, seeming slightly unsatisfied that no connections had been made yet.

"Oh yeah, my dad would tell me and my siblings about a story of a soldier in ww2. He was actually a French medic but that doesn't matter. He basically dragged his friends dying body back to a close by village and died after taking him back. My dad never saw it happen, but it was a popular story in the camps 'n shit. His name was something like..."

He paused to think.

"Matthew, I think." Jordon shuffled in his seat a bit, looking at the ghostly figure.

"Fuck off, I'm called fucking Matthew!" The curly haired man randomly spurted out.

"Well well well, I finally got to where I wanted to!" The ghost giggled mischievously.

"Matthew....

Tell us your story."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from the dead. I would deem this maybe one of the saddest chapters, but then you will have to wait for George's and Matthews to decide about that.
> 
> Question of the chapter is:
> 
> What do you study as school? Or what did you study?
> 
> I do English, maths, biology, chemistry, physics, French, history, geography and religious studies


	5. Matthew's Flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5337 words.
> 
> This took a while, but they all seem to do. I have nothing else to say so enjoy

\---Matthew---

"Hey, so my name is Matthew Busek and I was born on the 1st of April, 1914." His voice was rather scratchy from the amount of screaming that he had done. You couldn't blame him, your skin burning off would be rather painful and scream inducing. "I didn't actually grow up in America, no no no, I grew up in the wonderful, spectacular land of France." Sarcasm was sprinkled throughout the sentence. "We grew up on a farmy area, growing crops and slaughtering animals to sell to the locals for money. The area we lived in wasn't poor or anything, my parents had just decided to start this lifestyle, believing it may 'benefit' it us in the future. Plus, it helped with getting more food during..." He paused for a second. "World War One but we'll get onto that subject later. I grew up with ma mère et ma sœur or if you don't speak French, my mum and my sister." Matthew smirked to himself, happy that he knew two languages.

"Mon père..." He watched Jordon's face turn confused.  
"Oh yeah, sorry, I mean my father," Matthew corrected himself, making a mental note to stop speaking French as a joke.

"My father left our family when I was 3. Not to join the army or anything. He fled to England so he wouldn't have to fight. Coward." He hissed under his breath. "I remember I used to be so upset over it..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

"Mummy..." Little Matthew approached his mother who was doing the dishes.

"Yes Matthew?" His mother turned around to face him and knelt down to his height.

"When will daddy be home?" Matthew asked, innocence still clearly stapled in his sweet mind.

"He won't sweetie," She placed one of her hands on her son's chin,"He will probably never come back, and I don't want him to."

"Why?" Matthew cocked his head to the side.

"He's an embarrassment, if he truly cared for you, me or your older sister, then he would of stayed here to protect his family and not run away to England just to hide from the war." His mother looked down at Matthew. Even though she was kneeling, he was still too small.

Matthew looked away as tears welled up in his eyes. He tried to ignore them though. It was weak for boys to cry and he knew he wasn't weak. 

No, he's not like his father.

"Matthew..." His mothers warm voice spoke to him, hinting at him that it was okay to cry.

"I miss him too, I loved him so much but what he done is unforgivable. The whole village might look down on you and I don't want that, we'll make sure that you won't be like him, okay?" Matthew nodded as his mother kissed him on his forehead before getting back up to finish the dishes.

Matthew walked out of the kitchen, breathing deeply, trying to stop the tears falling out of his eyes.

He clenched the side of the door frame. 

He won't cry.

He won't.

He can't.

Fuck.

The tears rolled down Matthew's cheeks, his grip fastening on the door, causing his arm to shake.

Be strong.

That's all mum could ask for.

And dad.

\-----------------------------------

\---Matthew---

"I was upset for a while, you just can't let go of a family member that quickly when you're so young. Throughout the First World War, my family would help the soldiers from Britain quite a lot. We done things like give them some food or keep them entertained. My mother always told me to be nice to them as they were helping us and they were trying to keep us safe. She defiantly had a crush on one of them, no doubt but she never acted upon it." Matthew looked around at the others for a second before continuing.

"He was known to be mean by the other soldiers, well, that's what they told me. He was tall, had a harsh stare and he commanded and basically bullied the other soldiers around, even when they could rest. But he was known to of seen some fucked up shit, making his personalities slide between this strong, fearsome commander to a quiet, scared, paranoid man. I only saw him once. He was with some of the higher ups, watching them play football..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Matthew---

Young Matthew held the basket of bread tight in his hands. He had to go give it to some of the soldiers up on the field and thank them for helping the French in the war. He didn't really want to but it's what his mother said and you never mess with what an angry French mother says.

He hauled himself over the wooden fence. It wasn't that tall but it was a struggle for young Matthew. His curious eyes glanced over at the field.

4 men were messing around, laughing and kicking a shabby football around. They seemed to be having fun. He would describe them as friendly people.

Matthew approached them. They quietened down as he grew closer, all four looking at him.

"J'ai- uh, I mean I have bread for you..." He said nervously. He wasn't the best at speaking English but he gave it a good go. Listening was easier then speaking.

"Aww, thanks kid!" One of the soldiers ruffled Matthews curly hair.

Matthew stuck his tongue out in annoyance. They all laughed at him. He absolutely hated it when people messed with his beautiful, blonde locks of glory. The men started talking to Matthew and each other for a while, making more jokes and trying to make Matthew teach them naughty words in French. It was all fun and games until Matthew became quickly distracted.

By what? 

Or should I say who?

Matthew looked over the field and saw another man, not far away from the scene but still far enough away to be disconnected from the situation.

He sat there, cross legged and watching everyone's small movements, his eyes darting quickly around the place. His eyes were wide open and almost dead looking. He had a scar on his lip and his arms were shaking madly. He looked... Disturbed to say the least.

Maybe by something he saw in the war, Matthew had heard it was brutal.

"Who's that over there?" Matthew suddenly asked the 4 men.

"Oh, that's ol' John boy, he probably won't hurt you...probably, he-" The soldier knelt down next to Matthew. "-kinda lost his marbles, he's been in the war the longest out of all of us and they always like to put him out on the front line as he is strong and tough. But don't worry about him!" The soldier slapped Matthew on the back. "Anyway, thanks kid for the bread, we were all getting hungry so it's nice to have some food. Thanks again!" The man smiled at Matthew before picking up the basket and walking over to this 'John' sitting on the ground, the other soldiers watching him along with Matthew.

He watched the soldier that talked to him pull out a small bit of bread and giving it to the one sitting on the ground, explaining something at the same time. Once the soldier stopped talking, 'John' just nodded then turned his head back to look at Matthew. More like examine. His wide, blue eyes untensed a bit, sadness quickly covering them. A frown had also appeared on his face now.

Matthew gulped and turned around to walk off, still feeling those eyes burning into his back.

God, he was weird. Especially as he was wearing a sailors hat, he wasn't even in the navy!

 _I guess that's what the war does to you, makes you forget what force you are in_ , Matthew thought to himself.

Strange man.

A very strange man indeed.

\-----------------------------------

\---Matthew--- 

Matthew looked at the others again. Dylan was lucky at noticing Jordon, maybe he will have the same luck.

None of them had sad eyes. They were either numb, cold, neutral or angry.

Though, the scariest looking one had similar blue eyes and a scar over his lip.

_Eh, probably just coincidence._

"That's all I can really remember from the first war. Once it was finished our family had a bit of a party as we were no longer in danger, but that's all of what I can remember happening." Matthew was getting bored of telling his story already. "Ummm, life was kinda normal after that. Many people were still shaken up and in financial debt but we all got our way through in the end. You know, I always wanted to do something greater in life. I felt like I was destined to help people so I decided to learn some medical techniques." Memories flashed in his mind of the time he spent trying to perfect certain remedies. "Everyone loved the soldiers. All the children wanted to be as strong as them or as brave as them but not me. I always looked up at the medics. The way that people could be healed was just fascinating for me." Ah yes, Matthew always used to talk to the local doctors and find out how they saved people as a child. I was nicknamed the 'saver' of the village as I would try and help anyone who was injured, it was like my little job throughout my teens."

Matthew laughed to himself.

"When World War Two rolled around, well, I didn't sign up straight away, it wasn't mandatory at the time so I stayed on the farm. Everyone was so worried, I can still see anxious face of my neighbour..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashbacks---

Matthew sat on his sofa, all chores were completed and his mum stopped being sick for a minute. His mum was becoming worryingly ill and Matthew wasn't sure if she would live any longer. She was constantly being sick and refusing food and water.

Matthew sighed.

Why did life have to be so hard?

Knock knock.

Matthew looked at the front door. Who the hell would be knocking at this time at night.

Matthew shuffled over to the door and opened it, revealing a small, skinny woman standing there, fear flooding her eyes and face.

"Matthew! The Germans! The Germans!-"

"Hold on, please, calm and then tell me because I can't understand shit when you are having a nervous breakdown."

The woman stopped and took a couple of breaths before continuing.

"On the radio, England declared war with Germany after they started to invade another country and they are coming for us next!"  
She grabbed Matthews shoulders, gripping on to them for dear life.

"How do you know this? They might not come for us..."

"They will! They wanted to kill us in the Great War, they are gonna come for us again!" 

"Our army is stronger now, they shouldn't get far and they should be weaker. It's not like they are gonna invade us in 6 weeks and anyway, we won't let them take us if they try to kill us. We are strong, okay?" Matthew tried calling her even though it didn't work.

"But-" She started again.

"Go back home and try to forget about it, I promise they won't do anything to us."

"Now-" Matthew grabbed the door handle,"-go" He slammed the door shut before walking back over to the sofa, lying face down on it and letting out a whimper of defeat and sadness.

They never would get a break from all this bullshit.

\-----------------------------------

\---Matthew---

"I had to tell my mum about it and she wasn't impressed to say the least. She died around a month later I guess from the pure pressure of it all." Matthew felt like crying but stopped himself. His mother was really a big influence in his life. Anyway, German invasions started happening a year later. Many of the locals were resisting them, causing me to have to help the villagers when they got hurt." Matthew reimagined the sight of a fellow villages getting his hand nearly blown off by some Germans firing at them. He shuddered a bit before continuing. 

"I remember one day some British soldiers had found their way to our village. They were being hunted down by the Germans one by one at a rather quickly and alarming rate. Hah, even one showed up at my doorstep thinking I'd let him in..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Matthew rose from the comfiness of his couch to answer the door. He had just done a medical shift already, they shouldn't be calling him out to the another.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

"D'accord! Jésus, les gens et leurs manières." Matthew shouted out, only murmuring the last part.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

A soft growl escaped Matthews throat as he pulled the door open.

"Please! Help! I need to hide! They're gonna kill me!" A rather lanky, English soldier was at his door, begging for a place to hide. 

"And why should I help you?" Matthew asked. French people are slightly rude.

"Because I'm about to fucking die if you don't let me in and I have a fucking family so shift it." The man snarled.

"A please would be nice but fine, come in and go to the coffee table." Matthew muttered as the man rushed pass him.

Matthew walked over to the coffee table, chucked it to the side and quickly pulled the rug off the ground underneath. A cellar type entrance was revealed in all its dirty glory.

"Open it up and get in there, you will just be able to stand and that's it." Matthew hushed his voice as the sound of German ones came nearer and nearer.

The man just nodded and pulled it open before jumping in.

Matthew arranged everything back to where it should be.

Bang. Bang.

Matthew walked over to the door, took a deep breathe and opened it.

"Bonjour gents!" Matthew smiled frendily at the two soldiers in front of him.

One was really short. Really short. Probably only 4'9 at its best while the one next to him was Matthews height, 5'11.

"What can I do for ya today?" He put on a weird accent just so they wouldn't recognise his real voice.

"We need to search your house for any British soldiers. Pesky shits." The soldiers barged right past him without Matthews consent.

"Could say that about you to." He murmured under his breath.

The two went tearing around the house, knocking any item over and practically ruining the main house part for this useless hunt. The two eventually came downstairs and eyed Matthew up before giving up on their hunt.

"Have a nice day, sir." The smallest said to Matthew after kicking over a small table stand.

"You too." He hissed back.

Bang.

And the door was finally shut.

He sighed and kicked the coffee table back over, removed the rug, blah blah blah and pulled out the hiding man.

He was probably around Matthews height. He had light brown eyes which had the pure look of terror in them. His figure was, well, thin and weak. Mathew thought he could easily break his bones with just a sneeze.

"You okay?" The words slipped out of Matthews mouth.

"I'm okay, thanks for saving my ass back there!" A hand slapped Matthew on the back, an obviously friendly gesture.

The man smiled but that's all Matthew saw. The smile. The rest of his face was covered in a blur or was it static?

It was unclear.

Only his eyes and mouth were seeable and that didn't help much.

"I guess you'll need a place to stay then." Matthew started talking to break the awkwardness. "The couch is probably the only available place for you at be moment, though a room should clear up soon as my sister is moving out soon." Matthew replaced some of the knocked over furniture in the living room.

"Thanks again dude," The man said again.

"No problem, honestly" Matthew turned his attention back to the man. "My name is Matthew, Matthew Busek." 

"Cool, my name is #### #########." Matthew didn't hear his name, it was all static to him.

Just static.

Like everything else about this man.

\------------------------------- 

\---Matthew---

"This dude lived in my home for a long time, long enough for us to become pretty close. We would talk about relationships and what life was like in England and France. I distinctly remember him telling me that he was born in England but his bloodline was full Russian which I found rather interesting." Matthew said with a genuine tone in his voice.

"I was always concerned about how skinny he was so I always tried to fatten him up a bit..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

"Goddamn horse-boy eat your fucking food!" Matthew crawled over the top the other, forcefully ramming a piece of bread down his throat.

"Fuck off-jsjebehaka" The man shouted out before his shouts became muffled.

A bunch of kicks and punches were aimed at his stomach but he didn't give a shit, this little fuck needed to eat some goddamn food. Matthew gave up and reversed back, watching the man choke on the bread.

"Th-the fuck dude?" The skinny man growled, wiping the last parts of bread off his tongue.

"You are way too skinny, we need to fatten you up a bit. How are you meant to fight a war when you look like your about to collapse any second?" Matthew argued.

The man didn't respond, he just kept looking at Matthew, probably trying to come up with a petty excuse.

"But in En-"

"No no no, don't give me any of your petty bull shit, you will eat the meal I give you and you will devour every last crumb, got that?" Matthew threatened the other. He should know that Matthew would do no harm, he just needed to warn the skin 'n bones that he must eat.

The man held his breath for a second before exhaling deeply. "Fine." He grumbled, looking away from Matthew and out the window.

Matthew looked out there too. The grass had been torn to shreds by the Germans and there were no humans outside. Matthew was used to seeing the sights of playing children, laughing and smiling as they enjoyed their childhood. He wasn't used to the destroyed land which he called his home.

Home...

"####,"Matthew spoke the man's ineligible name, "Do you miss home?"

The other twisted his head back to home to look at the curly haired man.

"I guess, I miss my family and all that but not the place. It was just filled of skanks and cunts, I couldn't stand it, that's one of the main reasons I signed up." The man's words were surprisingly soft. He shut his eyes, enjoying the silence. "Anyway, I don't give a shit about them anymore. It's nice to be here. It's nice to be here with you." The man smiled at Matthew.

Matthew returned the smile and simply said,

"It's nice to be here with you too."

\-----------------------------------

\---Matthew---

"My attempts of getting him healthier were kinda working. He gained a tiny bit of weight but immediately lost it after he puked it right back out." Matthew looked at the skinny man next to him. Could it be him? "He admitted to me that he always had a problem with eating and his weight but he wouldn't tell me anymore then that. I wish I knew more but I guess I never will now." A small frown made its way on to Matthews face. "We both became really close, I had never had a relationship with someone like that before"

He thought about it for a moment but shook his head like he was shaking the thoughts away.

"He was able to convince me to sign up and fight. Well, I wouldn't do any fighting, I would be a medic and help the wounded. I was fine with it, I just requested I be close to my skin 'n bones friend." Matthew started talking again after his very small mental breakdown. "My request was accepted and I was placed in the same squad with him and 10 other people. They were more trained in fighting but they still said I was helpful. I'm unsure if they really thought that though." He sighed. He always felt he was useless as he watched the other troops do all their training and he would just stand at the side, watching them just incase they slipped up.

"We went to many places to fight and these missions were mostly successful."

He paused for a minute.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

"Mostly"

He looked up at the ceiling.

"Our last and final mission left no survivors of our squad...

 

Not a single soul."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

"Remember the plan guys?" The tallest soldier out of the squad whispered to the others.

The others just nodded, they needed to make as little sound as possible.

But something felt off to Matthew. His stomach was lurching with fear more then normal. He could tell something was going to go wrong, he just wasn't sure what.

"Alright, move out then." The same soldier whispered before they all split up.

Matthew and the skinny man crawled along next to each other, he could feel the fear radiating off the other.

"We'll be okay, Matthew" The man started talking, it was like he could read Matthew's mind.

Matthew didn't respond, he just kept his eyes on where they were crawling to.

"The place." The man muttered and stopped, peaking over the top of small, brick wall which was constructed for their protection.

"No enemies overhead." The skinny man reported to Matthew.

Matthew just nodded before he said,

 

"It's eerily quiet, isn't it?"

 

And as if the gods had spoken, a plane flew over the top of the land they were on.

Matthews eye grew wide with fear.

That wasn't just a plane.

It was a German bomber.

"Aron..." The name slipped out of his mouth as he looked at the other man.

His face suddenly became unclouded, it was the man who was sitting next to him. 

"What?" Aron asked.

Matthew simply pointed up towards the plane.

"I'm sorry..." Matthew spoke as his finger became shaky. 

Tears started trickling down Matthews face.

Why?

Because he was going to die and he could do nothing to stop it.

Aron gulped and moved his hand so it touched Matthews shoulders and just looked into his eyes.

These couple of seconds felt like minutes.

This will be the last man Matthew would ever see alive and probably dead.

There's no way he would go to heaven, not after some of the bad things he had done.

Hell isn't made up of people, just demons, like him.

Matthew just squeezed his eyes shut as the small object started to hurl to the ground from great heights.

The plane quickly flew off, trying to avoid the explosion that was about to occur.

"I'm sorry..." He repeated as an explosion smacked both of the men around the face.

Their bodies went flinging back, the heat of the bomb burning Matthews flesh.

Tears fell out of his eyes. 

He wanted to scream. So he did.

He couldn't stop screaming.

He wouldn't stop screaming.

He wouldn't because he could feel the skin evaporating off him.

He wouldn't because he could feel his hair burning off because of the flames.

He wouldn't because he could feel his clothes ignite and scorch his body even more.

He wouldn't because he could feel his fingertips go numb as they practically melted off the bone.

He wouldn't because he could feel his toes stick to his boots like candle wax.

He wouldn't because he could feel all the grit scratch and imbed itself into his body. 

And most importantly...

He wouldn't because he could feel half of his face had been melted off.

His last drops of energy would be used up screaming his lungs out, letting the whole world know he is hurt and forever will be.

.

.

.

Crash.

Their bodies hit the ground. Matthew rolled a bit further from where he landed but Aron was way past him. Matthew saw the others body go shooting past him in fact, only to hit a brick wall that was used for defence.

Matthews body instantly went limp, his limbs feeling like they were mixing in with the dirt that would be his grave.

Sound entered back into his ears all of a sudden.

There was no more white noise, there was just...

 

Screaming.

 

Matthew had stopped that but there was more coming from somewhere else.

He weakly turned his head around to look behind him, where the screaming was coming from.

Aron.

It was him.

His eye looked like it had been scolded off, an empty, bloody eye socket was only left and his clothes were ripped. That was probably about it. Lucky bas-

His leg.

There wasn't one.

There was just a crooked bone sticking out with stringy, long, burnt flesh hanging off it.

Tears kept falling out of Matthews eyes.

He used all of his might the push himself up with his bleeding arm. He dragged himself across the hot, charred ground towards Aron.

Matthew wasn't going to let him die alone.

He could maybe save him.

"Aro-Aron..." Matthew coughed out.

"Can you hear me?" His voice was far from scratchy, it barley unbearable to understand.

Aron just looked at him wide eyed, clearly in shock of the incident.

Matthew pushed himself closer to the other, there is time.

"A-" He started coughing straight away.

"Aron..." Matthew stared at the leg. The only good thing was that the fire had burned the ends of the veins and arteries, stopping any major bleeding.

Aron stayed silent before placing a hand on the brick wall and trying to pick himself up. Matthew saw that all of his nails had been ripped off, only leaving bleeding fingers. Aron whined in pain as he tried to move his other hand.

Oh fuck.

His arm was awkwardly bent in the wrong way.

Specifically, his radius has pierced through the skin and was sticking out of his arm.

Aron's body just fell to the ground, not able to withstand all the pressure.

"Aron?" Matthew called his name.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

No response.

"Aron!?!" Matthew desperately said as he crawled closer to Aron.

Matthew shook his limp body, panic flooding him like a child who had just lost a favourite stuffed toy. He was still breathing but horribly weak at its best.Matthew attempted to stand up, his hands shaking but he somehow done it. He grabbed Aron's hand and pulled him up, dropped him for a split second before grabbing his waist. Matthew then placed the half-living body over his shoulder before taking a step.

The weight was crushing his body.

His knees were all burned.

His feet didn't have enough energy.

His hands didn't have a good enough grip.

His arms weren't strong enough.

His eyes couldn't focus properly.

His brain couldn't comprehend what had just happened.

But Matthew wasn't going to give up.

He took another step, more adrenaline started pumping through his body.

Another step and he forgot about the dead weight on his shoulder.

Another step and he forgot about his bleeding face.

Another step and he forgot about the flesh falling off his legs.

Another step and he forgot about his duties as a soldier.

Another step and he forgot about the times he healed his village.

Another step and he forgot about training as a medic.

Another step and he forgot about his house.

Another step and he forgot about childhood.

Another step and he forgot about his mother and sister.

Another step and he forgot about all the burdens his father put on his fragile shoulders.

Another step and he forgot he was dying.

Another step and he could only remember that he wouldn't let Aron die.

Matthew dragged his feet across the ground until he saw a village.

 _His_ village.

He kept moving, his arms shaking even more by the minute.

He saw people staring out of their windows as he moved closer to the centre of the village. Matthew stopped moving as some villagers started walking up to him, shouting at him to stop otherwise he's going to get even more hurt then he already was. Matthew just looked at them with dazed eyes. One came up to him and took Aron of his shoulder.

All the pain had kicked back in now. 

His body was swaying left and right, he couldn't stay for much longer.

Matthew mustered up a couple breaths before saying,

"Aidez-le..." (Help him...)

And down he went.

His face smashed into the floor, his open wound mixing with the mud of the ground.

He could feel his last couple breaths of air escape his failing lungs. 

He could feel his soul climb out of his shell of a body.

He knew he was probably crying, he always did and always had done.

One last thought flashed into his struggling mind.

Be strong.

That's all mum could ask for...

 

And then everything went black.

\-----------------------------------

\---Matthew---

Matthews body tensed up a bit. "I died in 1942 at the age of 28."

He had nothing else to say now. That was his life.

Start to end.

He looked around at the other guys.

Danny was shocked, Dylan looked like he was going to puke, Jordon had a terrified expression, Aron was confused, the stretched ear man had sympathy clouding his eyes and the scary one had taken off his sailors hat in respect.

"Oh fuck..." Aron mumbled.

He clung onto his head before looking back up and at the councillor.

The ghost had a wild grin on his face.

"I remember now... I remember everything." Aron muttered, his eyes wide as memories flashed through his brain.

"Aron... Oh Aron..." The ghost chuckled.

"Why don't you tell us about your story?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this probably won't be updated or even written in 2 weeks because we have exams this week and next week so sorry y'all. Anyway, this was a fun chapter to write with all the burning flesh shit.
> 
> Also, I said about Matthews hair being blonde in the start but I said that his hair was black in the first chapter, if you can't guess, it's black in this dimension because it was burned to ash and ash is like black or grey colour.
> 
> Question of the chapter is: How would you describe you eyes?
> 
> Mine are like a dark blue with a greeny-browny circle around the pupil.


	6. Aron's Hunger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having to be reupload this chapter as it is bugging out on my phone.
> 
> 8211 words

\---Aron---

"My name is Aron Erlichman and I was born on the 2nd of March 1915." Aron crossed his skinny legs, trying to look somewhat proud. "I was born into a family of illegal Russian immigrants in the south east of England, specifically Kent as it is closest to the docks. I grew up with my younger sis and my Ma and Pa, ya know, your standard fam." Aron tapped his foot on the ground. "I guess we got along as a family. My parents were always paranoid about being found out and being sent back to Russia. They really did risk everything they have just to get to England. I know they were both disowned by their families and both weren't accepted into the small Russian community already living there but they kept trying." 

"My Ma always told me to stay away from the full blooded British kids, I never understood why at the time..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

5 year old Aron started to walk over the the local playground.

He wasn't aloud to go outside often for the fear he would be kidnapped but he was able to finally convince his Ma to spend the day outside and not cooped up indoors all day.

He walked over to the gate which was the entrance to the playground.

"Wait, Aron." His Ma spoke in broken English.

"Maybe you should play some where else." She said, trying to sound as normal as possible.

Aron frowned but still pushed the gate open, taking one step inside.

"Aron!" She quickly rushed over the him and dragged him back by the wrist.

He whimpered slightly, his starved body couldn't fight back.

"Aron we can not risk it! Lets just go back home and play with whatever board game I can find in the loft, okay?" She tried to keep her tone sweet and calm but pure anxiety was battling its way out.

"Okay..." He murmured in a low, depressed tone.

She didn't even try and respond, she just walked off with Aron, holding his wrist with a tight grip.

"Ma..." Aron started to moan.

"Not now..." She whispered, still dragging the unfed child behind her.

Aron stayed quiet, not having the energy to talk or try to fight back.

"Ma..." He finally spoke up again.

"Yes?"

"Can I have something to eat when we get home, I on-"

"Aron we can't afford anymore food, I'm sorry but you'll have to wait." Aron didn't say anything after that. He knew the conversation was finished.

It would never end in his favour.

\-----------------------------------

\---Aron---

"If you haven't guessed, my family didn't have enough money to buy food most of the time so it left me starving as I would have to eat last as I was the youngest, it was like a manners thing." 

"God, that's horrible..." Danny's voice drifted off.

"I know." Aron agreed with a nod of his head as well.

"I'll also add this memory in for the fun of it..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

The stick came flying down into Aron's fragile, young body.

"Please! I didn't mean to do it!"  
He pleaded with his mother, staring up at her with tear filled eyes.

"Of course you meant to do it! You stole it yourself and ate it yourself so you will suffer the consequences yourself!" She slammed the stick on to Aron's body again, hitting him dead straight in his boney back.

Aron let out a screech of pain, his nails digging into the wooden planks of his 'home'.

Another strike of pain was sent through Aron's body, causing him to barely lift his head off the floor.

"That should be a good enough lesson for you, Aron." His mother spat at him before chucking the stick on to the floor and walking out of his bedroom.

Aron let the tears fall out of his eyes, he couldn't escape.

He couldn't run.

He had no where to go.

He was stuck here for the rest of eternity.

Aron was able to push himself off the floor after awhile.

He must of been lying there for an hour, no, probably two at the least.

Aron shakily stood up before collapsing again from the hunger tearing away at his small body.

Nothing would end in his favour.

\-----------------------------------

\---Aron---

Danny looked petrified after seeing that.

"Anyway, World War One never really affected my life, in the end it just seemed to be another thing for my family to worry about." Aron looked up at the ceiling.

"Nothing much happened during that time, well, except my uncle being viciously murdered." Aron gulped.

"My uncle was probably the closest to me in my family. Whenever he came to see us, he would let me eat as much as I liked, we used to play games like football and things like that, he really was the bright point in my dark life." Aron could clearly remember him rushing over to his Uncle with joy.

"I still remember the day I was told...."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

"Aron?" His pa called out.

Aron was at home, drawing on a bit of paper, which had come from food his mother had brought, which was sitting around.

"Yeah?" Aron got up and walked out of the room to greet his father.

Aron was probably only 5 at the moment, still too young to understand a full extent of a problem.

"You know Uncle Dug?" His dad asked, sadness immediately covering his voice.

"Yeah?" Aron smiled, not realising that something bad had happened.

"Uncle Dug is no longer with us." His dad bluntly said as he knelt down to Aron's height.

"Why? Has he gone back to Italy then?" Aron cocked his head to the side, he was just too innocent.

"No, he..." His dad paused for a second.

"You won't see him again...Not until your time comes..."

"What do you mean?" Aron questioned.

"Uncle Dug had been attacked in his cabin over in America." His dad finally said.

"Was he attacked by a bear or something? Is he alive?" Aron tried to keep his tears down.

"No, he was attacked by a human, a close friend of his."

"Why would he do that?" The tears sat at the corners of Aron's eyes.

"Well, his friend wasn't like me or you," Aron's dad placed a hand on Aron's shoulder, "he had seen some things from the Great War which didn't do him any good."

"Is Uncle Dug alive though!" Aron shouted.

"I'm sorry, h-he's not. He had been s-seriously hurt and they can't do anything to help him now..." His dad's voice drifted of again.

"No, no, no, no, no-" Aron keep repeating to himself, holding his hands by his head and backing away from his dad.

"No!" He shouted again, his back hitting the wall.

"I'm sorry Aron, I just can't make hi-"

"No!" He shouted again, sliding down the wall until he was sitting on the ground.

Aron started sobbing with not a single shed of shame.

"Please... Aron..." His dad pleaded.

Aron ignored him and stayed there, crying his eyes out.

He soon became numb to the things around him.

He didn't even notice his mum walk into the room.

He didn't even notice his dad wrapping his arms around him.

He didn't even notice that he had been sitting there for 4 hours straight.

Aron looked up from his hands after a while.

His dad had left and so had his mum.

The room was dark and so was the landing in front of him.

He looked down it, looking at the window placed high up.

It was cloudy outside, small clouds crowding in the cold night air. The moon was clearly visible, shining like a torch in the sky. He could see other buildings close by, sitting silently without a single person stirring in them.

Aron sighed and hunched into a ball on the cold, wooden floor.

Uncle Dug would be watching over him tonight.

Aron just hoped he would for the rest of his waking days.

Aron let out a shaky sigh and stood up after a couple of minutes.

Nothing would end in his favour.

\-----------------------------------

\---Aron---

"I always felt like I was being watched by my Uncle Dug, like he was guarding me from any pain that I would encounter in my life." Aron started rambling on again.

"That's what my Pa always used to say. I wish he was telling the truth with that. I can't believe I ever trusted him about it." Aron scoffed.

"My next life problem came in the form of dicks living near my home. We didn't exactly live in the nicest area, it was filled with poor people roaming the streets and fighting for food and supplies, ready to steal or beat whoever comes their way. Unfortunately, I became a victim of that. I guess it was my fault, I did steal it after all ..." Aron shivered slightly.

" I still remember when the two of them found me..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Aron---

Bam.

Aron's body went crashing to the ground.

"Oi boys! 'urry up! I finally got this bugger down!" A figure loomed over Aron.

He looked skimpy and not strong, but still better then what Aron looked like.

Aron tried to stand back up.

He might be able to outrun these fuckers if he was lucky.

A cracking pain smashed down onto Aron's back.

 _Okay, maybe I can't outrun these fuckers,_ Aron thought.

Aron let out a whine and scurried to his feet, smacking his hand round his attackers face.

Aron then started sprinting for dear life, not even trying to see if his attacker was hurt or not.

He might get a beating, but he was sure that he would die. He was too young, 15 in 6 days.

 _What a shame if I do die,_ Aron considered. 

His family wasn't rich enough to even get him something for his birthday. They would be much better off without a child to care for. It would mean more money for themselves.

Aron scoffed before a pang of hunger struck through his skinny body.

_Shit._

Aron slowed down, feeling the hunger starting eating away at his stomach.

He could normally ignore it but he couldn't at the moment. The energy that he needed wasn't there to run any further.

"You fucker!" The voice roared out behind him.

Why was he being chased in the first place?

Oh yeah, he stole some food from the bakers.

Well, he's going to be bludgeoned anyway so why not just eat the food now.

Aron stopped running and stuffed his hands into his pocket, pulling out a flakey croissant which was ripped in half.

He rammed it into his mouth, practically swallowing it whole.

The baker slowed down and walked towards Aron, his rolling pin in hand.

Aron narrowed his eyes, swallowed the rest of the croissant and clenched his fists.

" Ya little shit bag, arentcha'?" The man growled, swinging the rolling pin in the air.

Aron lowered his head, waiting for the first swing.

Or was he?

Aron skidded to the side and ran off shouting

"SUCKER!"

He started laughing to himself.

 _Easier then I thought it would be,_ Aron thought.

The light at the end of the alley grew closer and closer as he approached it.

Wait, why was there a light?

Aron slowed down.

It was night, there should be no light around.

 _Oh fuck,_ Aron thought as he skidded to a halt.

The light grew bigger and bigger.

No, not a light.

Was it... a human?

Aron tried to focus on the being walking towards him.

It's 'clothing' was torn and bloody, it's hair messed up and dirty yet its eyes remained a bright, glowing light.

Aron gulped.

"Jesus, have you come to take my soul to wherever the fuck I'll go?" He muttered.

"Gotcha' now yo-" The baker stopped, another behind him as well. "Sweet mother of Mary..." He whispered.

The man looked petrified before he turned round and shot off the opposite way it a speedy run.

Aron was confused.

Why did they run away.

Why was this figure here?

Who was-

The figure kept staring at Aron, keeping a straight face the whole time.

"Uncle... Dug?" Aron whispered to the figure.

Aron heard nothing of a reply from the other.

It simply stared at Aron.

Aron stayed quiet, why was-

Pain.

Aron's body fell to his hands and knees.

"Fuck..." He groaned, holding his stomach.

He swear he could feel his ribs sticking straight out of his skin like spear ready to stab someone.

Aron took one more glance as the figure as his brain felt like it was swaying back and forth.

The figure just stared, staying silent like the snow.

Silent like a lion stalking a stray dog.

Silent like an knife slicing through a slice of butter.

Silent like broken clock, trying it's best to chime one last time. 

Silent like the wind, destroying everything it comes into contact with.

Silent like a lion walking away from his prey's bones.

Silent like taking a walk through the woods after doing something bad.

The figure shut their eyes like he could read Aron's mind.

"Rest Aron..." The figure whispered in an unrecognisable voice.

"Wai-" Aron tried to say before everything went to black. 

He felt like he would never get answers.

He felt like the truth about Uncle Dug's death was being hidden.

He felt like he would never lead a normal life.

He felt like he would never be able to afford food to eat.

He felt like he didn't deserve that food as much as he wanted it.

He felt like he didn't deserve to live, his existence was useless _in Britain._

Aron wasn't sure of many things, but there was a thing he was sure of.

Nothing would end in his favour.

\-----------------------------------

\---Aron---

"Seeing this 'ghostly' figure would keep going on, always in the time I needed him. After that happening, I started to believe my dad more. Uncle Dug was watching over me." Aron slightly smiled, oblivious to the stretched ear man raising and eyebrow at him.

"But he wasn't the only one, there was another figure. I never saw him, I only heard him talk to me, whisper the words of evil into my _innocent_ ears." The last part was added on with a sprinkle of sarcasm.

"The light figure was good I guess, he would always stop me from fighting people and would calm me down while the voice was encourage me to fight and..." Aron paused and looked down.  
"Kill..." 

"They was vengeful, they wanted me to get my hands dirty for their amusement."

"Their voice was deep and scratchy, deeper then Matty's and the rest of yours-" Aron looked Dylan, Danny, Jordon and Matthew."But then again, I'm not sure about you two." Aron looked at the stretched ear man and the scary eyes.

Both didn't say anything, it was like their mouths were sown shut.

Aron ignored it but found it strange.

He also notice that after he turned away slightly, both of the unnamed people made eye contact every minute or so.

 _Maybe they already know each other?_ Aron wondered.

"Both of these two voices stayed with me after that event, I tried to not let the 'evil' one win but..." Aron paused

"It happened..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

Aron picked up the knife from the drawer.

**It will be quick, just do it**

Aron walked towards his stairs and ventured up them, the knife gripped tightly in his cold hand

He opened up the first door to his left when he reached upstairs, it was his younger cousins room.

Some of his family had come to stay, what a lovely delight.

He walked over to her crib.

She was too young to even talk or walk.

 **She's just a pile of flesh and bones, nothing else** , the voice in his head added.

He lifted the knife into the cot and against the child's neck.

The skin was soft and fresh, it would be easier to tear open with one simple slice.

 **Turn her over so she is on her front then stab the back of her neck, make sure to put all your strength into it, keep the blade so you are holding it sideways and aim for the middle of the nape, it might stab her spinal cord which should kill her quickly.** The voice clearly showed no remorse.

Aron gently grabbed the sides of the baby and turned her fragile body over. He stretched out her body flat so the back of her neck was exposed more. He hovered the knife over the spot where the voice had told him

 _Don't do it Aron,_ another voice chimed in.

**What the fuck do you know? Let him do it! Stop trying to control his fucking life!**

_No, he can't do this it's not righ-_

**As if you done the 'right' things in your life!**

_You can talk!_ The other voice snarled back.

"Please stop..." Aron lifted the blade up as the two voices got louder.

**Yeah I can fucking talk because being loud was what let me live longer then you did you cunt!**

_At least I didn't kill over 20 people because 'I couldn't control myself' and 'I was just sick' and 'I wasn't being myself'_

**YOU--**

"Shut the fuck up!" Aron shouted as the knife plunged deep into the baby's neck.

The voices stopped.

The baby stopped.

It stopped moving.

It stopped _breathing._

Aron freaked out and walked backwards.

What the fuck had he done?

Aron ran out of the room and headed for his own.

He slammed the door shut and jumped into his bed.

What the fuck was he going to do?

 **Not be caught.** The first voice replied.

"How?" Aron said out loud.

 **Simple, act shocked when they find out and deny it, say you were sleeping the whole night and add in that why would you want to kill the baby.** Aron swore he could feel a hand on his back. A large one if it was.

 **Now go to sleep and get some rest,** The voice commanded.

Like magic, Aron instantly became tired.

He lied down and covered himself in his mountain of blankets.

His eyes slowly shut, the image of the knife ripping through the baby's flesh still strong in his mind.

He sighed harshly.

Nothing would end in his favour.

\-----------------------------------

\---Aron---

"I fucking regret that day so badly, I don't know why I ever did it..." Aron looked at the others.

Danny's face was in pure shock, like normal.

Dylan's face was neutral but his eyebrows were raised in alarm.

Jordon was just watching him like he had killed the child in front of him.

And the other two.... 

The scary eyes one didn't react at all, his face was straight through out the whole flashback.

The stretched ear bloke had concern in his eyes but he kept himself together- unlike the others.

"Of course, they soon found the baby dead and the police were called. Because technology wasn't as advanced, I got away with it as they couldn't take DNA off the weapon and they ruled me out because why would I want to kill a baby? The case remained cold and still is today, sad we can't go back to the real world and change that." He rolled his eyes at the last bit, clearly being sarcastic.

"Anyway, life didn't become any better after that. I became so fucking sick of everything going on with my family and neighbourhood, I enlisted in the army in the end." 

"It was the start of WW1 when I was sent off to the mainland of Europe, specifically France." Aron turned his head round to look at Matthew. "That's when I met you, well, that's when I practically begged my way into your home."

"Maybe I should explain what happened that day..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

Shit shit shit.

Aron ran for dear life.

His squad and 6 others were assigned a mission to infiltrate a German base.

We can simply say it didn't go to plan.

Aron could see a small village. Well, it wasn't exactly small but it wasn't the biggest.

Somebody would have to let him in, he would die otherwise.

 **Turn round and fight them, you coward!** The deep voice scolded him

 _Do it if you want to fucking die young!_ The other voice jumped in.

"I don't have time for you two..." Aron muttered as the shouts of German troops became louder and louder.

He was the quickest runner out of his squad and even then the Germans seemed to be so close.

Maybe he should listen to G-

Or maybe not.

Aron slowed down and started walking backwards as he passed a house.

He shot up to the door and banged on it hard.

Bang Bang Bang.

No response.

Bang Bang Bang.

"D'accord! Jésus, les gens et leurs manières." Aron heard a man shout from inside the house.

A sigh of relief escaped Aron, maybe he would die after all.

The door swung open to reveal a fit man, probably a bit taller then Aron who had dark blue eyes and brown curly hair.

"Please! Help! I need to hide! They're gonna kill me!" Aron decided to act nice, it would probably give him more of a chance of being let in.

"And why should I help you?" The curly haired man asked with a smug look on his face.

"Because I'm about to fucking die if you don't let me in and I have a fucking family so shift it." Aron snarled. He could always get in by force.

"A please would be nice but fine, come in and go to the coffee table." Aron instantly shoved past the man and stood by the wooden coffee table.

He watched the man chuck the coffee table to the side and open up a trap door.

"Open it up and get in there, you will just be able to stand and that's it." Aron just nodded. He wasn't going to take any chance in the situation he was in now.

He opened up the hatch and jumped in, quickly slamming it shut to hide himself from the outside world.

 **What the fuck are you doing! Don't be hiding down here like a fucking coward! Go out and kill them all** The voice urged him.

Aron ignored it and waited patiently, keeping his ears open for any Germans.

Then he heard the knocking. 

"Bonjour gents!" Aron guessed that was the curly haired man taking. He sounded like he was trying to stay calm and disguise his voice.

"What can I do for ya today?" Okay, that voice was really fake.

"We need to search your house for any British soldiers. Pesky shits." One of the soldiers spoke. Footsteps then came closer to Aron.

He gulped and ducked down as small as he could.

"Could say that about you to." Aron heard the curly haired man mutter under his breath.

He couldn't hear much, he could only make out bangs and crashes coming from further up the house.

Eventually, the footsteps came closer again, probably to talk to the owner. 

"Have a nice day, sir." Another soldiers voice piped up.

"You too." The curly haired man hissed back

Bang.

Aron guessed the door was finally shut.

He heard the man sigh as he removed the coffee table and helped Aron out of the little hole.

He was around Aron's height, probably taller. He had dark blue eyes which had the pure look of disgust in them. His figure was some what muscular to say the least. Aron felt like this man wasn't going to let him stay any longer.

"You okay?" The curly haired man suddenly blurted out.

"I'm okay, thanks for saving my ass back there!" Aron attempted to make a joke, maybe he could win this man over with friendliness.

Aron felt the tension grow quickly, this fucking man just kept staring at him.

**Kill him! Knee him in the dick and grab his head and smash him into the wall till he dies!**

"I guess you'll need a place to stay then." The man hastily said after a while.

"The couch is probably the only available place for you at be moment, though a room should clear up soon as my sister is moving out." The man continued.

"Thanks again dude," Aron chuckled.

"No problem, honestly" The man smiled at him.

"My name is Matthew, Matthew Busek." 

"Cool, my name is Aron Erlichman." He grinned back.

Aron felt like he might actually have hope in his life for once.

But as we all know,

Nothing would end in his favour.

\-----------------------------------

\---Aron---

 

"Yah, that's how that happened basically." He honestly sounded too chill.

"As you know, I was stuck living with him for he next couple of months so I had to be kind to him. It started off awkward in my opinion but we did get to know each other better in the end, even when things came awkward about my life back in England." Aron tapped his fingers on the arm rest of the chair.

Aron suddenly turned to Matthew.  
"I'm still not happy about you nearly finding out about my eating problem..." 

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

 

"Goddamn horseboi eat your fucking food!" The curly haired man had climbed on top of Aron, forcing him to eat some bread.

"Fuck off- jsjshshsgjaaj" Aron snarled before being cut off by deepthroating some bread.

Aron aimed a punch at Matthews stomach, mustering up all of his might to get the man away from him. Once realising that would work, he sent a fury of kicks towards the curly haired man's chest.

Matthew soon gave up and reversed back, his dark blue eyes burning into Aron as he choked on the bread.

"Th-the fuck dude?" Aron growled, wiping the last bits of crumbs off his lips.

"You are way too skinny, we need to fatten you up a bit. How are you meant to fight a war when you look like your about to collapse any second?" Matthew scolded him like he was his mother or something.

Aron guessed it would be different. His mum would more likely be scolding him for eating anything in the first place.

Aron didn't respond, he just kept staring at Matthew.

 **Beat his ass to the ground! He can't know you are weak,** The voice rung throughout his head.

 _What? No, he's just trying to help you,_ The other voice replied.

"But in En-" Aron started off with an excuse.

"No no no, don't give me any of your petty bull shit, you will eat the meal I give you and you will devour every last crumb, got that?" Matthew kept eye contact with Aron. Of course, he meant no harm but Aron could clearly see that Matthew was stronger. His shoulders were broader and he had more muscle on his arms.

 **You know Aron, when I was alive I was much fitter then that. Women would swoon over the muscles on me.** The deep voice spoke.

 _Yeah yeah, stop showing off._ The other one replied, Aron could just imagine him rolling his eyes.

 **But it was true! You saw it for yourself when we were alive.** No response came to the statement.

Aron sighed. They were going off on another tangent like usual. If he started talking both of them would shut the fuck up.

"Fine." Aron finally grumbled, breaking the eye contact and glancing out the window.

Matthew seemed to be lost in thought when he looked out the window too. His eyes were calm but then grew sad with guilt and anger. Maybe he was remembering what life was like before WW2 broke out.

Did he have anymore family other then his sister? What happened to his parents? When and why had he learnt to speak English?

"Aron," Matthew's voice interrupted Aron's train of thought, "Do you miss home?"

Aron turned his head round to look at Matthew again.

"I guess, I miss my family and all that but not the place. It was just filled of skanks and cunts, I couldn't stand it, that's one of the main reasons I signed up." I also couldn't stand it because I was restricted from eating and beaten as a child because I just wanted some food so now I'm too scared to eat anything, he added that bit into his thoughts.

"Anyway, I don't give a shit about them anymore. It's nice to be here. It's nice to be here with you." Aron smiled at Matthew, letting all the friendliness that the deep voice didn't want him to release, release into the wild.

Matthew returned the smile and replied with, "It's nice to be here with you too."

Aron felt like everything was going perfect at the moment.

But nothing would end in his favour.

\-----------------------------------

\---Aron---

"Anyway, of course I got him to sign up and we were put in the same squad and life was dandy for a while, ya know, we just done a shit tonne of missions and they mostly went okay, just standard shit." Aron continued.

"The training we had before was boring but it was just standard stuff I've done before over in Britain."

"Now, let's move onto the more interesting mission," Aron clasped his hands together once more, "Our final one."

"Neither of us survived it." Aron looked at Matthew.

"Wait, you didn't live?" Matthew sounded disappointed, like all of his efforts had gone to waste.

"Well, it would be better if I explained what happened first..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

"Remember the plan guys?" The tallest soldier out of the squad whispered to the others.

Aron nodded in sync with the other soldiers.

But Aron saw Matthew didn't. He looked like he had seen a ghost. 

Maybe he saw his favourite two phantoms.

 _He hasn't._ The voice replied.

Matthew looked like he just wanted to quit the mission there and then.

 **Only of you could...** The other voice said with actual concern.

"Alright, move out then." The same soldier whispered before they all split up.

Aron started crawling away with Matthew at his side. They had to stay low down so their positions wouldn't be notified by the Germans. If they were spotted, then it would be like going up shits creek without a paddle. (Authors note: it basically means he is screwed).

_He's scared Aron, comfort him._

"We'll be okay, Matthew" Aron started talking, hoping he would calm the man's nerves.

Matthew didn't respond, he just kept his eyes on where they had to crawl too.

"The place." Aron muttered before stopping and peaking over the top of small, brick wall which was constructed for their protection.

"No enemies overhead." Aron reported to Matthew.

Matthew just nodded before he said,

 

"It's eerily quiet, isn't it?"

 

Aron kept his eyes peeled to look over the long stretch of destroyed land, waiting for any soldiers to pop up out of nowhere and fire at them.

But Aron noticed Matthew's eye growing wide with fear.

He didn't know why, the nothing seemed strange or wrong.

"Aron..." The name slipped out of Matthews mouth.

"What?" Aron asked.

Matthew simply pointed up towards the plane.

"I'm sorry..." Matthew spoke as his finger became shaky. 

Tears started trickling down Matthews face.

Aron felt his heart skip a beat, they were going to die.

 _We tried to warn you._

Aron gulped at the message and moved his hand so it touched Matthews shoulders and just looked into his eyes.

These couple of seconds felt like minutes.

This will be the last living man Aron would ever see alive and probably dead.

 

Matthew just squeezed his eyes shut as the small object started to hurl to the ground from great heights.

The plane quickly flew off, trying to avoid the explosion that was about to occur.

"I'm sorry..." He repeated.

And everything suddenly froze.

What was going on.

An unbearable heat his his body but he didn't go anywhere.

He looked up and saw two figures standing over him.

To the left was a man, the man he saw in the alley way with the glowing eyes. He had a sad look in his eyes.

To the right was a man Aron didn't recognise at the time. He was taller then Uncle Dug and seemed to have more scares covering his eyes and face. His eyes were shining too, but it was a icy blue glow instead of white.

 _I'm sorry we couldn't save you._ Uncle Dug said.

 **But this was your destiny.** The other man said. So that's what the 'evil' voice looked like, scary to say the least.

 _**It's your time to join us, Aron.** _ Both men said in sync as their bodies evaporated.

Then everything started moving again.

Another powerful gust of heat smacked into Aron's body, sending him flying backwards.

He could just about see Matthew in front of him.

It looked like he was screaming his lungs out but Aron couldn't hear it. 

All he could hear was static surrounding him, buzzing from one ear to the next. 

Why wasn't he screaming himself?

He was in the same situation but he wasn't doing the same thing.

Why weren't Uncle Dug and that other person helping him through this?

They really did mean it when they said he was going to die, didn't they?

Suddenly, his back hit something hard, his arm smashing straight into it at the same time.

His body plummeted to the floor, a pain striking through his arm.

Aron tried to look around for Matthew, maybe they could survive this together?

He saw the man lying on the floor like him, further ahead of him.

Aron tried to reach out with his good arm, but he was too weak. 

He looked at himself, nothing seemed wrong until he looked at his leg.

It wasn't there.

It was just bloody flesh and broken bone.

A scream escaped from his lungs, it came from pure shock.

And it definitely caught the attention of Matthew.

"Aro-Aron..." Matthew suddenly coughed out to the other man m.

"Can you hear me?" Matthews voice was quiet as the buzzing still remained in his ears.

Aron just looked at him wide eyed, clearly in shock of the incident.

Matthew tried to push himself closer to the other man, maybe to try and save him?

"A-" Matthew went straight into a coughing fit.

"Aron..." Matthew stared at Aron, looking at all of his wounds and injuries.

He started crying.

Matthew was crying because of him.

Was it really that bad?

Aron twisted his body round to see the brick wall behind him.

He placed a hand on one of the bricks sticking out and tried to push himself up.

It was painful.

Very.

And that was really getting to Aron at every hop he made to try and somewhat stand up.

He stood still for a second, power and adrenaline rushing to his only leg. 

Matthew was still looking at Aron, like he was examining his every move.

Matthew is a medic after all, maybe he woul-

All feeling in Aron's body left him as he smashed to the ground, forcing dirt into his open wounds.

He could here the slight sound of Matthew screaming in shock as he fell.

Oh why did it matter anymore?

The phantoms said that it was his destiny to die here.

The phantoms said that they couldn't save him.

The phantoms said that it was his time to join them.

What did they mean by that?

Were they in hell?

Was he going to hell?

A light clashed into Aron's eyes.

He wasn't on the floor anymore...

No.

He was moving.

But he wasn't.

He tried to look around and see why he was being moved.

Who was moving him?

He tried to stretch his body round to see the person but it didn't work.

He could only see the back of a medics uniform which looked very burnt with black, curly hair hanging dow-

Matthew.

How is he moving this quickly?

He looked terrible when Aron last saw him.

Half of his face had been burnt of, exposing two rows of teeth.

His arms were all bloody and scabby.

His legs were all inflamed and his eyes could barely open.

Aron couldn't either.

Specifically, he couldn't see out of his right eye.

It was like nothing was there.

Just a bloody, empty socket.

Maybe the explosion done more damage then he thought it wou-

Darkness covered his vision again.

Goddamn, not this again!

Aron waited in the darkness.

He couldn't hear.

Smell.

Feel.

See.

Taste.

His mind was just an empty hollow, waiting to be filled by whatever thought wandered alo-

Another bright light made his eye open in desperation.

He wasn't out in the battle field.

No, he was in a village.

The village.

The village him and Matthew were in.

The village his life was saved in.

The village he now called home.

But Matthew was no longer holding him.

No,

He saw Matthew standing there, swaying side to side, pain clearly shown on his burnt face.

"Aidez-le..." The last words slipped out of the man's leaving soul before his body fell to the ground.

Aron was confused, what the fuck happened?

Is he dead?

He better not be dead.

Aron's life would be nothing without hi-

And the darkness took over his sight once more.

He had lost a lot in a span of a couple of hours.

His leg.

His eye.

His squad.

His friends.

His rank.

His mobility.

His best friend.

And his will to live.

Nothing would end in his favour.

\-----------------------------------

\---Aron---

"I fortunately survived the attack and was stuck in hospital for a long time." 

"How long?" Danny curiously asked.

"Long enough for my shrivelled body to finally curl up and die, so I'd say a month or so." Aron bluntly answered.

Danny pulled a shocked face.

"Well you asked the question and I give you the answer." Aron responded.

"Anyway, for the time I was in hospital, the nurses were pretty nice but even they knew I wouldn't pull through much longer. All of them basically said that I was too underfed to fight of the infections which had gotten into my wounds so it was a case of me lying on a bed and waiting to die."

"As I said, the nurses who were around were really nice to me, especially one named Asia and her daughter Ava, they talked to me quite a lot throughout my stay." Aron immediately noticed that scary eyes seemed more interested when he brought the names up.

"They were the last people I talked to before I died..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

Aron lied on the bed.

His ribs and bones had become more obvious throughout the days, well, when weren't they obvious?

He was too weak to eat food at the moment and it was a struggle to drink anything either.

Aron had accepted that he would die here and nothing could save him. It's easier then keeping false hopes like Uncle Dug guiding him through this pain. That fucking bastard had abandoned him when he most needed it.

"How do you feel today, Aron?" Asia, one of the nurses, walked over to him and started to check his leg.

She had longish dark brown hair which was tied up in a pony tail. She had deep brown eyes which was accompanied by large bags below her eyes. She had a longish face with okay features. Of course her features had dulled since her youth, she was 51 at the time she was dealing with Aron.

"Do you need any help?" Her daughter walked into the room.

Her name was Ava. She had blonde hair with brownish highlights in them. She had soft lips and she also had a brown eye and blue. Apparently it appeared in 1920, 4 years after she was born. She was also 26 now, her and Aron were similar ages.

"My eyesight might not be getting any better but I can still see!" Asia shouted back out as she unwrapped the bandages around Aron's decapitated leg.

"Ouch, still looks badly infected." She muttered, pushing her gloved thumb up against part of the flesh.

Aron just scoffed and shut his eyes.

"You know, to take your mind of your leg, I'll let you in on a secret of mine." Asia started scraping some of the puss away from the wound.

"And what's that?" Aron's voice was croaky but he was still able to answer. He had also opened his eyes to have full attention to this secret.

"Well, my husband isn't the real father of Asia." 

"Huh?" Aron was confused. The old woman's bantering had told Aron that her and her husband had been married since 1912.

"Yeah, I know," She wiped the gaping hole down with a watery cloth.

"Back in WW1, some soldiers stayed close to our village and would come in and talk to all of us. There was one, now I can't remember his name but he had a handsome face. He had beautiful blue eyes, a lovely smile, he was tall and muscular. Everything you ever wanted out of a guy. He always used to tell me stories about a man nicknamed J-Dog and how much they got along." She took a closer look at the cut. "I fell in love with him and he done the same with me. We met up every night and soon got down to business." She scraped the wound down one last time. "I got pregnant but I couldn't tell my husband that the child wasn't his, so we just pretended it was his. In the end, the real father had to go back to America and I remember him telling me that he would come back and visit me one day." Asia started wrapping the leg back up in bandages.

"Did he?" Aron asked.

Asia sighed. "No, I never saw or heard of him ever again."

"Wow, that's sa-" Suddenly, a striking pain went through Aron's body.

He immediately sat up straight and bent his back, viciously coughing up blood.

"Aron? Aron!" Asia sounded shocked and scared.

She ran off and grabbed a bowl but Aron didn't notice.

He could only taste the metaly blood run down his throat.

Aron's body suddenly spasmed, making all feeling of control leave his body.

His body fell down onto the bed, blood pouring out of his mouth and nose.

"O shit shit shit shit." He could distantly hear Asia and Ava running around, trying to find whatever they could to try and save Aron.

Another spasm struck Aron's body like a lightning bolt.

He stared up at the ceiling, his eyes opened wide.

All of his organs hurt.

His lungs.

His intensities.

His liver.

His kidney.

His heart.

And suddenly, it went black.

Everything went black.

There was no scent.

There was no sound.

There was no light.

It was...

 

peaceful.

 

For once in his life, he felt calm.

This is his escape.

He is finally free.

Aron let his body completely go.

It felt like free falling down an endless hole.

Freedom...

Maybe something would end in his favour.

\-----------------------------------

\---Aron---

"I died in 1942, 2 months after the bomb dropped. I'm not really sure how I died, I guess all my organs shut down on me." Aron shrugged.

"Uncle Dug..." The chairman muttered.

"Wait, no, it wasn't Uncle Dug. I always said Uncle Dug because I could never pronounce it right. It was Uncle Dog! Uncle Dog!"

"Hold up..." The stretched ear man suddenly spoke out.

"Uncle Dog..." He repeated the name. "My nickname was J-Dog...."

His eyes opened wide as all the memories flooded back to him, there was a constant pained look in his eyes though.

"Jorel..." The chairman giggled.

"Why don't you tell us your story?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For you my dear, GimmeYourFood
> 
>  
> 
> Question of the chapter:
> 
> Gender?
> 
> I'm a female (surprise surprise)


	7. Jorel's Dilemma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol losers I've finally completed it. Also, keep an eye on the italics, I'm rather emphasising a point or foreshadowing. 13300 words.

\---Jorel---

" My name is Jorel Decker, Or J-Dog, I don't mind either." Jorel shrugged. "I was born on 1st May in 1893 and I have..." Jorel counted on his fingers quickly. "... 2 brothers and 1 sister, so 4 of us in total. Now," Jorel clamped his hands together, "My dad was the godfather of the mafia back then. He was the top dog in short terms. In fact, because he was in charge and I was his son, they gave me the name of J-Dog, you know, as a reference to him." Jorel gave all the others a cheeky smile.

Danny gave a small grin back while the others kept pretty straight faces. Jorel just shrugged at the others random grumpiness and continued his story.

"Anyway, because my dad, Miles, was the godfather, we were stinking rich when we were younger. We had many things other people didn't like good clothes, expensive alcohol, shit like that. And-" Jorel leaned forward. "It was fucking amazing." Another grin was worn on his face. "But-" He sat back up straight and relaxed his shoulders. "- even though I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I still respected everyone, rich or poor." His gaze drifted over to scary-eyes. "Isn't that right, Georgie?"

The man just slightly grumbled and rolled his blue eyes.

"That's what I thought." Jorel grinned again.

"I met George at a young age, though, we didn't really get to talk or get along..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

Young Jorel ran through the streets, the slight gust of wind hitting him in the face. He giggled, all of his 5 year old innocence covering the truth of this place.

"Please Jorel! Slow down!" A female voice called after him. Jorel slowed down and waited for the maid-sort person to catch up. "You don't know who you'll encounter while we're in this-" The woman's shoulders tensed up, "neighbour hood."

"What is there to be afraid of, Marie?" Jorel looked up at her and asked.

"Well," her thick French voice answered, "this place is home to a lot of Irish immigrants."

"Woah, so they traveled for a long time to get here?" Jorel couldn't even imagine how long it took them to get here.

"They did, but the problems..." Marie stared down the exit of the alleyways they were standing by "... because they aren't from here, they don't believe in the same things as us, their manners are different, they just want money and a good life, nothing else. As your father would say," Marie bent down to Jorel's height and fixed his long hair, "never trust an Irishman or his children. Irishmen are known to be very violent and angry towards each other and anybody else, they are very dodgy and could hurt you. That's were I come in to protect you." Marie stood back up straight and smiled before continuing walking.

"Oh," Jorel muttered before running back out in front of Marie while still staying close.

He didn't care if these people were scary, they were still humans, right?

They walked for another couple of minutes before Jorel got bored. He ran off further down, maybe he could find something to d-

Jorel smashed his head into another child before stumbling back and looking at who he bumped into.

"Jorel!" He heard a voice shout out.

The child in front of him was slightly taller, but not by much. He had average blond hair and cold blue eyes. It looked like he was wearing nothing more then rags. He also had another child by his side. This one was smaller and younger. His hair was almost snow white and he had the same blue eyes. The younger one looked like he was 3 or 4, while the taller on was maybe 6 or 7. They were both holding hands so he guessed they were brothers 

"I'm so sorry!" The oldest apologised in a frantic way, taking a step back in the process.

"It's fin-" Jorel started before...

"Jorel! Get away from _it_ this instant!" Marie shouted at him.

Jorel obeyed and ran back to Marie's side.

"Are you okay? Did that _thing_ hurt you?" Marie checked all over Jorel, checking for the slightest bruise.

The oldest child just stood there and watched, he looked to scared to move.

"I'm... sorry." He repeated in a more slower manner before grabbing his brother and bolting past him and Marie.

"You better be." She snarled as he ran past. "Come on, Jorel," She picked him up in her arms." I'll just carry you the rest of the way, you'll be safer that way."

Jorel let out a groan but just rested his head on her shoulder. He looked down the alley way behind them.

Where was that kid going and why? What was his family like? Would Jorel meet him again in the future?

Jorel was too tired to think of anymore questions just like me, the suffering writer, so he shut his eyes and let the darkness of sleep consume his vision.

\-----------------------------------

\---Jorel---

"I honestly kinda forgot about you after that," Jorel placed a hand on George's knee as an apology, only for it to be rejected as George shuffled to the edge of his seat. He removed his hand. "The next time I saw you was when we were staying close to your village and my older sister and I went to the 'park' place to play..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

"Come on Jorel! Hurry up!" His older sister shouted back down at him as she ran.

"I'm trying!" He shouted as he sprinted as fast as his little body could take him.

His sister suddenly halted to a stop in front of a fence and so did Jorel, except he halted straight into her back.

"Larissa!" He growled as he stumbled back.

"Oop, sorry." She started giggling at him.

She then jumped over the fence, landing in the cornered off bit of field. Jorel followed her and landed next to her, staring around at everything. Well, the lack of anything.

There were some children playing something like 'it' or tag but that was about it. There were two other kids playing with a ball...

Hey, it was the same kid from a couple of months ago!

The blue eyed kid was with another kid who had black, spiky hair with dark brown eyes.

"Oh come on George! You too scared?" The black haired one taunted the other.

 _"Oh, so the kid's name is George",_ Jorel thought to himself.

"What! Of course not!" George narrowed his blue eyes at the other kid. 

"Then come on! Throw the ball at me, chicken." The other kid poked his tongue out at George.

"Oh I'll throw at you." George snarled under his breath before taking a step back, positioning himself before he took a step forward, pushing his arm out at the same time, sending the ball flying though the air at a rather incredible speed. In fact, it was going so quick that the other kid had no time to react as it smashed into his face. The kid fell over, landing with a thump on his back.

"You prick!" The other kid scrambled around, standing up while trying to regain balance. He done this before grabbing the ball and standing up straight with a face like thunder.

"What, Adam, you too scared to be hit in the face?" George taunted back with a grin.

"What a nice smile..." Jorel muttered out loud.

"Come on, Jay! Stop being so nosey and let's go play something!" His sister said as she took some steps back.

Jorel turned around and looked at her, trying his best not to spectate what was going on behind him. 

"What should we play then?" Jorel said, trying to distract himself.

"What about..." Larissa started to think, staring around at the scenery.

Jorel turned his head round to the scene going on behind him again.

Adam was running off, face in hands and hysterically crying. George was standing there, fist clenched and ball by his feet. George just watched the kid run off before picking the ball up and staring at the horrible state of it. Jorel suddenly walked away from Larissa.

"Hey, Jorel, wait!" He heard her shout.

Jorel kept on walking up to the other kid. George stared at Jorel, giving the him the look of 'are you mad?'

"What happened there?" Jorel asked as soon as he got close to George.

"Adam was being a cun-" George stopped himself from saying what he was going to say, obviously remembering that Jorel was a young soul with innocent ears. "Adam was being ever so rude so I just threw a ball at his face. He then started shouting and getting angry with me and he wouldn't give me my ball back so I punched him the face." George blankly said. "He didn't really like that."

"I can see why." Jorel grinned and scanned George. "You are kinda short, aren't you?" Jorel randomly pointed out.

George sighed angrily. "I know. I get enough from my dad and my brother about being short and I don't need anymore from you!" George snapped at Jorel.

"You're rude as well." Jorel retorted.

"It's called the Ragan charm." George scoffed before walking off, muttering something to himself.

"Damn," Larissa walked up behind Jorel. "He didn't seem too happy."

Jorel shrugged. "Each to their own."

"Sure you can say that, but he was being really rude! I guess it is true then, they really are all violent. Let's forget about it, go find Marie and go home." Larissa started walking back over to the fence.

"Oh," Jorel sounded disappointed, "okay then." He scurried after her.

He wanted to spend more time playing, that's why he was so disappointed. One bad thing shouldn't ruin the day, should it?

Jorel mindlessly followed Larissa, thinking again about random things. What should he eat for dinner? What was he going to do tomorrow? Would he be able to spend some time with dad?

Jorel groaned, his little legs starting to ache with pain.

"Come on, lazy, not much to go." His sister ran off into the distance, leaving him behind.

"Wait!" He shouted out, but she didn't listen.

Another question suddenly popped into his head.

Why was that kid so hostile?

\-----------------------------------

\---Jorel---

"You know, we really didn't get along at first, did we?" Jorel started laughing as he asked George.

"I guess not." His deep voice grumbled.

"Anyway, as destiny would have it, it was our fate to meet one more time in the same year." Jorels eyes glanced over at everyone else. "It was probably the worst year of my life, meeting you then being snapped at by you then being forced to spend an evening with you! It was a lot," Jorel exaggerated the 'lot', " of hard work in my book. 'Why did we meet again' you may ask? Well, we both unfortunately found out that our dad's were close friends in all the sketchy shit my own dad done. Your dad," Jorel turned his head to George," was smart, so he'd always make sure that Miles was doing a good job."

"When was you told that?" George lifted a eyebrow and asked.

"Well, I asked Miles then I went to Kevin and _simply_ asked him."

"And he gave you the answers straight away?" George raised an eyebrow again.

"Wasn't as simple as that. But that's another subject for another day." Jorel turned back around to everyone else and smiled.

"Anyway, back to the third time I met you..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

"Daaaaaadddd" Jorel groaned as he walked along.

"What is it?" His dad asked.

"Where are we going? And why is it taking soooooooooo long." Jorel stopped walking, his dad doing the same after a couple of steps.

"We're going to see a close friend of mine. He has a son too, well, two actually, maybe you lot could get along." Jorel's dad started walking again.

"Who is it then?" Jorel walked after him.

"Well, you've never met him before but his name is Kevin. I actually knew him when I was your age. Oh, and I must warn you," Miles, Jorels dad, turned his head round to look at Jorel," he is _very_ tall." Miles said with a grin before looking back to where he was walking.

Jorel didn't respond, he just stared at his dad's back. He shrugged and decided to look around at the scenery as this walk was taking forever in his mind. First off, they were back in the alley ways again, walking the same way that he saw George walking. There was lots of leaves scattered on the ground with a couple of empty bottles of something behind one of the houses. 

_It must be Autumn,_ he thought to himself.

His dad suddenly took a sharp turn out of the alley, and Jorel followed. Both of them were now exposed to part of the Irish village. He saw a couple of people were staring at him and his father, their eyes burning into both of them. Miles ignored it but Jorel couldn't, why did they look so angry and why at them?

Miles halted in front of one of the houses and Jorel stared up at the door. The number '3' had been carved into the front of it with a blade or something. After his dad knocked, he heard some faint voices rise up inside the household. A woman's and a man's, by the sound of it. He then heard some rattling behind the door before it was opened.

"Oh, Miles! Come in, come in!" The woman gave a friendly smile and stepped back, letting the two enter.

 _She has a nice accent,_ Jorel thought. Definitely Irish.

Just as Jorel walked in, he made eye contact with the woman. She had a soft face with deep green eyes, blonde, curly hair and a lovely smile. She was short, no taller then 5"2.

"Jorel, this is Terry. Terry is Kevin's wife, by the way." Miles added in.

"Nice to meet you, Jorel." She laughed for a second. "The last time I saw you was when you so small, he was so cute." She said with a grin before walking down the hallway. "Follow me."

Jorel followed his father, staring at the house. It was rather... bland and small. In a room up ahead, he could hear a deep voice talking with a child responding to what the voice was saying. What they were saying was unknown to Jorel, it sounded like a different language. Terry was heading for that room, so Jorel had no idea what to expect. Terry walked in and said something to the male sitting in the room before Miles and Jorel walked in.

"Ah, nice to see you again, Miles." The man's voice grumbled.

 _Weird, no Irish accent,_ Jorel thought to himself.

"Yeah, nice to see you again pal." His dad took a step forward, allowing Jorel to see who was talkin-

Fuck.

Dad wasn't lying that this man was tall. Jorel guessed that was Kevin. How could he even describe him? Well, he had cold blue eyes, kinda like the kid he saw before at the park. His eyes were masked by a pair of glasses and he had short brown hair along with a long face. One of his legs was probably taller then Jorel was. Jorel could maybe guess 6"9? Taller? He was unsure. He wasn't the best at school stuff but Jorel was sure that he was more then just 'very' tall.

And there was also a kid sitting on his lap, staring at the book which his father was holding out in front of him.

The kid had cold blue eyes and average blond hai-

"It's you!" The kid snarled and Jorel.

Jorel narrowed his eyes.

George.

"Show some respect, George." Kevin shot back at his son in almost an instant.

George stared up at him, but said nothing and looked back at Jorel, giving him the stank eye.

Jorel could just about see the blood squirting out of George's tongue as he bit it.

"You can sit over there," Terry pointed to an empty seat.

"Thank you." Miles smiled at her and walked over, Jorel stuck to his heels. 

As Miles sat down, Jorel quickly climbed into his lap, the feeling of a pair of eyes burning into him not ceasing. Jorel stared back at George, but there was no way he could exchange the same amount of hostility in his look.

"So," Miles started talking, "how's Molly?" 

Kevin shrugged. "She's okay at the moment. I'm surprised though, she's a quiet little child but I don't think that will last, looking at how George and Connor have grown." Kevin looked down and George. "But yeah, she's fine."

 _Damn, he does have a deep voice,_ Jorel thought.

"That's good." Miles said with a smile.

The adults continued talking for a while, but Jorel wasn't really listening, he was too bored at this point. George wasn't though, the book his father was once reading was now in his tiny hands and he was reading it. Jorel thought it was weird. Of course, he could read himself, he was homeschooled but he was always told that the poor kids couldn't read that well or write let alone books that big.

"Wow, I'm surprised little George can read that quickly." Miles voice came through Jorel's thoughts. 

_Did he read my mind?_ Jorel wondered.

George also looked up from reading the book and stared at Miles.

"I made sure that I taught him how to read, it's an important skill in life." Kevin replied.

George sighed and continued to read the book.

"Why don't you two play upstairs?" Kevin suddenly said, burning his eyes into George, indicating him that he _will_ go play upstairs.

"Sure," He said reluctantly.

He hopped off his dad's lap, landing on the floor with a light 'thud' before looking at Jorel. "Come on." George said. Jorel jumped off too and walked over to George. George narrowed his eyes before saying, "let's go", and walking out of the room. Jorel followed as they walked down the hallway before suddenly-

"Fucking mess try anything and they won't find your body. No touching anything in the room. _Nothing_ " George grabbed Jorel by the shoulders and smashed him up against the wall. "I don't want to hang out with you, so I'll just leave you to play with Connor and I'll just be in the room, reading or doing whatever, okay?" George stared deep into Jorel's eyes.

"Okay." Jorel gulped as George let go of him and swiftly walked upstairs.

"Connor!" George shouted out.

Connor, who was the kid he saw with George the first time they met, shot up the stairs after George. He was probably 1 or two years younger then Jorel. Jorel followed them upstairs, dreading what will happen. He walked after them down the short hallway, which led into a small room.

There was some sort of cheap bed with some blankets drawn over it and...

A cat!

It was a grey tabby with lighter grey on its paws. It's 'collar' was just a piece of blue string tied around its neck. Also, it's eyes were a bright blue colour which were boring into Jorel.

"Does everyone in this family have blue eyes?" Jorel accidentally said out loudly.

"I guess so," Connor said in a sweet voice, "that's Henry by the way." He pointed towards the cat."

"Don't try and stroke him, he'll claw your eyeballs out." George added in and walked over to the cat, slowly stroking its head, completely contradicting his point.

"Anyway, this is my room!" Connor told Jorel. "I have my bed, a chair, my clothe pile, and one book. Why only one?" Connor turned to look at Jorel. "I'm lucky. Mum and dad make George read allllllllllllllllllllllll the time, I don't have to though!" He then gave a cheeky smile while George scoffed.

He was still stroking the cat, now on his knees.

"You know, George," Connor started talking, a smirk planted on his face. "They only make you do that cause they don't love you. They love me more. I'm their favourite child and always will be. You'll never live up to dads expectations, let alone-" Connor smiled even more, "his height."

George let go of the cat and stood up.

_He has a point. Kevin is massive and Connor is tall as well. Why is George so small?_

Connor ran away and laughed, George running after him in a rage. Jorel went after them, wanting to see what will happen. Connor halted at the top of the stairs and so did George. George had a slightly different idea though then just stopping.

"You can't be tall with broken legs, can you, Connor?" He said darkly.

"You can-" George rammed his hands into Connors back, sending him flying down the stairs.

Jorel cringed as he heard the smash of Connor as he hit every step right until the last one. His body was sprawled out on landing. Then Jorel heard Connor scream and cry, the sound of people walking and running arising quickly.

"You'll be next." George turned to Jorel and stared him deep in the eye.

Jorel gulped and took a step away from the stairs.

"Connor!" He heard George's mother shout in worry as she leant over her child. She picked him up delicately and whisked him away from the step. Jorel just about saw some sprinkles of blood on Connor's nose and some remaining on the landing of the stairs.

"I shouldn't of done that." Fear suddenly struck George.

"Of course you shouldn't of! You hurt hi-"

"No, not that." George gripped his t-shirt. "Dad..." He muttered and stared down the stairs wide eyed.

"Jorel! Please come down here!" Miles shouted upstairs.

"Okay!" Jorel shouted back before running down the stairs. George followed him, still scared.

Jorel left the stair area to see Miles standing next to Kevin. There was definitely a large height difference. Kevin narrowed his eyes at George, and George sunk down, the fear in his eyes growing even more.

"Jorel, I think it's best we head back home. It's getting late." Miles spoke in a calm voice, making Jorel walk towards him.

Miles nodded at Kevin before saying, "Thanks for having us round."

Kevin just responded with a nod. Miles took Jorel's hand and proceeded to walk down the hallway, heading for the front door. Jorel twisted his back round to see George for the last time. George was taking steps back as Kevin stalked closer to him. George was crying, tears dripping down his face but he didn't make any noise. Kevin was talking in a very, _very_ low voice, causing George to shrink down close to the floor. Jorel twisted his head back round as they approached the front door.

"Kevin's going to be harsh with George but he will live, so don't worry, okay?" Miles looked down at Jorel.

"Okay..." Jorel glanced back on last time before the Miles shut the door.

Miles rushed Jorel away from the village, eventually picking Jorel up and carrying him back home.

 _I wonder if he's okay...._ Jorel thought as he was close to drifting into a sleep.

Jorel shut his eyes and rested his head on his dad's shoulder.

Maybe another day...

\-----------------------------------

\---Jorel---

"Then I saw you a couple of times after that, and then we started to get along. It really did take a while but it worked out in the end." Jorel tapped his fingers on the edge of his seat. "I guess that would've happened anyway. After all,we were practically forced to hang out everyday of every week." A grin slowly grew on his face. George was about to talk but Jorel cut him off, "no need to say that I was great company, I know I was." His grin intensified. "Anyway, as we got older, our friendship didn't cease. It went from playing in the woods to playing in the bar."

George started lightly laughing to himself, "The 'Mary Jane'."

Jorel smiled, happy George remembered. "Where we met our loves, well, where I met mine; you just found another thing to fuck. Where we drank our hearts out and...." Jorel drifted off. "The last time I saw you before you left to Ireland." Sadness filled his eyes.

"Why not we stick to happy things for now?" George suggested.

"Yes, that's a very good idea. You know what," Jorel looked at the circle of people around him, "I'll tell you the story of when I met my wife and when George met one of his many girlfriends." Jorel smiled at George suddenly. "The girlfriend that you got pregnant."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

"Alrighty then, Georgie." Jorel quickly stretched his arms out in the air as they approached the bar. "Let's see how many girls will flirt with you and let's see how many will not flirt with me."

George let out a laugh. "They do like you though, Jorel."

"Not really. They like you more because,  
1.You're 6ft3"  
2.You're muscular  
3.You have nice eyes  
4.They like your 'bad boy' attitude.  
5.And you have a big dick."

George laughed again. "But you have a cute face, ladies do like that." He pinched one of Jorel's cheeks, only to be pushed away by the smaller man. "Anyway, you're average height and you're not Irish. Ladies should be coming left and right with their pussies soaking wet." George said before he pushed open the door of the bar.

They entered, multiple sets of eyes staring at him.

"I never understand why it is so bad to be Irish, like you're still people." Jorel stared at George.

"They don't like us because we aren't from here. If I would to get a girl pregnant, which will _never_ happen and who wasn't Irish, their parents would kill me. We're like the scum of the American community." George walked over to the bar, ordering a drink for himself and Jorel.

Jorel walked up and stood next to him, looking away and at his drink. A glass of red wine. George's small glass was filled with what was probably whiskey. His favourite.

Jorel took a sip of his wine, delicious.

"Hey, Jorel." George said.

"What?" Jorel asked.

"See those girls over there?" He secretly pointed towards two girls standing there. 

"Yeah, what about them?"

"That short one is really hot, don't you think?" George gave a grin, the one Jorel had seen too many times. It was the smile of 'I want to fuck her but I don't want to be committed'.

"No, dude, the girl next to her is better looking." Jorel noticed the other girl.

Both were wearing casual clothing. The shortest one, the one that George liked, was short, very short. She had light, brown hair and greenish eyes. She had a chubby, rounded face which made her look cute. The second one was taller. She had blood red lipstick on and was wearing a nice hat.

 _She must be rich, dad would like her,_ Jorel immediately thought.

She was skinny though, but not too skinny. The other girl was more curvy, definitely George's type then.

"Nah dude, the other birdie is better. I'll bet you a shot of whiskey I can hook up with her and fuck her by the end of tonight." George dared.

"Shake on it?" Jorel placed his hand out.

"Shake on it." George grabbed his hand harshly and shook it. "Oh look," George watched as the two girls walked over to the bar, dangerously close to them," I have my work cut for me."

George stood up straight and walked over to them, starting conversation easily. Jorel couldn't hear what they were saying over the music and talking, but he knew what George's plan would be. Compliment her, flirt, then smile and laugh. After a couple of minutes of them talking, Jorel saw him pull the smile. That ever so sweet sweet smile that would make anyone swoon over him. He saw the girl he was flirting with laugh, before looking up to him with lustful eyes. George then laughed. The ever so sweet laugh. He then said something else, pointed to Jorel and talked to the other girl. She smiled and looked at Jorel, giving him a small wave. The girl then stood up and made her way over to Jorel while George wrapped an arm around the smaller girl, still talking to her.

"So, you're interested in me then?" She slid into the seat next to him.

"Guess I am." He would just play it cool.

She laughed. "Maybe this could be something, my name's Vanessa, Vanessa James."

"And I'm Jorel Decker." Jorel replied. "You around here a lot? I've never seen you before here."

"Nah, me and the girl I was with, Carly, only came down here because she forced me to. I normally live my life in the bars in the city."

"Ah, the city. What side do you live on then?" He asked.

"West." She replied.

"Same." He said with a smile.

"If you're live in the city, why are you down here, in the in between?"

"My friend, George, lives in the-" he paused a second before changing what he was going to say,"- he lives close by, so I meet him here so we can go out and drink."

"Hah, when you walked in here, Carly was immediately drooling over your friend." 

"A lot of people do." Jorel muttered as he took a sip of his wine.

"But you are cuter then him, that's why I like you." She smiled

"That's nice of you." Jorel slightly blushed. "Where have the two of them gone?" Jorel looked around.

"I'm not sure..." Vanessa stared around the bar. 

"Probably gone outside to fuck, knowing George." He said bluntly.

"Knowing Carly, that's probably what she has done." Vanessa laughed. "Nice to know our friends are similar."

Jorel smiled.

_Damn, she is pretty._

"You seeing anyone at the moment?"

"I'm not, why's that?" She stared straight into Jorel's eyes.

"Would I ever be so kind and fill in that blank space of your life?"

 _Maybe that's too hard to understand,_ he cringed at himself in his mind.

"Sure, cutie." She placed her hand over Jorel's. 

Jorel smiled again, blushed a bit more and moved closer to Vanessa.

"I'm sure the others won't be back anytime soon and I have a hotel room close to here, would you care to join me?" Jorel proposed the opportunity.

"Why not?" She smiled.

"Come on then, let's go." Jorel finished his wine of before standing up straight and placing his hand out so she could hold it.

"You can be nice and all but don't be expecting any action, I'm not like Carly." She smirked.

"I'm not like George, so don't worry about that." He smirked back as they started walking out of the bar. Jorel heard one or two whistles from the drunks in there but he ignored it, it wasn't like they were going to do anything.

They left through the double doors, the cold, winter air slicing through Jorel's body. He gave it a shiver but ignored it the best he could.

Jorel wrapped his arm round her shoulder, pulling the skinny woman in closer.

What a nice way to end the night.

\-----------------------------------

\---Jorel---

"It was all jolly and games after that. George hooked up with Carly and me and Vanessa stayed together until the very end of my life." Jorel twiddled his fingers."Nothing major happened in the next months, well," Jorel looked at George," except you telling me that Carly was pregnant." Jorel looked away and let his eyes examine everyone else in the room. "I still remember the day. I was down in the village, the outskirts of course as that's were George used to live, and he came up to me in a mix of emotions. He told me and I congratulated him but," he turned his head back round to George,"you weren't happy about it. You said you didn't want to settle down and spend your time on a child, you said you wanted to do something. You said you _knew_ you were destined for something better. And when that baby was born, you kept to your word." Jorel stopped talking.

"Expand on, 'you kept your word'." The chairman suddenly added in.

"You never loved him. Since day one, Arthur meant nothing to you. You kept your word in that you didn't want to spend your time on your child. He was such a wonderful child, he had your eyes and your blond hair you had when you were younger. He was short like Carly and luckily looked more like her then you. That child deserved a better father then what you were." Jorel clenched his fist. "Me and Vanessa would of killed to of had a child but oh no, you were out neglecting yours." He said with almost a snarl. "You never loved Arthur, so I don't understand why you cared and worried and loved A-"

"Let's stick to your story, not mine." George's eyes darkness as he interrupted Jorel.

"Why not then." Jorel said with a pissed off sigh. "Let's fast forward a few years, 1914, when the Great War started." He crossed his leg in annoyance. "The last time I saw George before that was when he told me he was going to see his grandparents over in Ireland. I didn't realise he wouldn't return from the trip." Jorel scratched his head for a second. "You were drafted into the war, forced to join the Irish military. I had no clue what happened to you, I got so worried when you didn't return on the day you were meant to . At least you had the courtesy to send me a letter..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

Jorel paced up and down the hallway of his fathers house.

Where could he be?

Maybe the ship sunk?

Maybe they kidnapped him?

Maybe he decided to stay there with his family?

 _Oh god oh god,_ Jorel's mind was bouncing all over the place.

"Please, Jorel, stop worrying." Miles, Jorel's father, suddenly walked into the hallway.

"But he's two weeks late! Two weeks!" Jorel stopped pacing and faced his father.

"You know what the Ragan family is like, he's probably just got caught in some business." His father pulled a cigar from his pocket, lit it and started smoking from it.

"I've received nothing about if he is oka-" as if God had spoken, a envelope was slipped underneath the door.

Jorel rushed over to it, kneeling down to pick it up. He took it and read the front. _Jorel_ it read.

"It's for me and it's George's hand writing!" Jorel stuck his finger into the envelop and ripped it open, grabbing the letter in an instant.

"See, I told you not to worry." Miles remarked but Jorel ignored it, he was too far reading the letter by now.

It read...

 _"Dear Jorel,_  
_As you know, I was in Ireland to see my grandparents and spend some time with them. I have done that and I had a nice time, but there is a problem. The UK has gone to war with Germany and I was forced to join the Irish army as my family is, well, Irish. I did not decide this, some dickheads did. I'm not sure when I'll be back or if I will be back. The war is meant to end by Christmas, so I think I'll be back around that time. I'll try and keep writing to you, but we have been informed that the letters will take a couple of weeks or even months to get and receive. I'm sorry, Jorel._  
_George"_

"Damn.." His father said as Jorel realised he read it out loud.

"At least he will be back by Christmas, so 5 months, right?" He stood up and asked his dad in a shaky voice, trying not to shed a tear.

"Hopefully. Wait, kid, don't cry." His father's voice went soft.

"I'm not gonna cry! I wasn't even going to! I just got something in my eye." Jorel sniffed as he wiped his eyes.

His dad just let out a sigh. "I'm sure Theresa isn't too happy about this. Terry always loved George dearly after she split up with Kevin, hopefully she won't take this too harshly." Miles muttered.

"Do you think Kevin will finally care about George now that he has gone and joined a war?" Jorel asked, staring at his father.

Miles looked back, "Yes, he will. He does care for George and he always has, he just," He paused and thought about it, " is unable to express his true appreciation and love towards George and probably never will."

"What if George gets.... killed?"

"Don't say that, if George is anything like Kevin or Kevin's father, he won't go down without a fight." Miles took a puff of his cigar.

"I hope so..." Jorel's voice wondered off.

His father walked out the room, probably to do more paperwork. Jorel knew he was being a pussy about this, but he was concerned. George had been a lifelong friend for Jorel, he didn't want to loose him now, or anytime in fact. George could easily be killed on the battle front or traveling there. Wars are brutal, so he wouldn't die happy. Jorel's stomach started to twist.

He should of _never_ gone to Ireland.

\-----------------------------------

\---Jorel---

"I spent everyday and every night of every week or every month worrying about George. It was the only thing on my mind. I couldn't concentrate nor sleep, everyone was getting worried about me. The letters which we sent gave me some peace, but it didn't last long." Jorel turned his head to George. "One year into the war, your letters sent to me started to decline. You started going on about how horrible it was and how it was getting worse, how you felt like you were loosing your mind and nothing felt real anymore. Don't you realise how worried I was when I didn't receive a letter? You left me on hold for two and a half years after telling me you had been hearing things and kept having nightmares. You just went silent! Do you realise how much that broke me?" Jorel stared at George, his eyes beginning to water.

George said nothing and just looked back, his eyes dead and cold.

"In the end I just gave up. I just believed that you had been killed on the battlefront and that was it. I liked to believe that you died in battle, being brave and courageous, fighting for your home country. I wished you had died with honour. Everyday I mourned, I mourned and I mourned, no one could save me from the depression I entered. Miles tried, Larissa tried, mum tried, Vanessa did too. Talking about Vanessa, you missed out on me getting married. I just thought 'well he's dead now, better try and distract myself!' I guess it worked for a short time, but the thoughts and worries about you just kept creeping back. Fuck, I traveled to England multiple times to pretend I was seeing my brother and his son, Aron, just to see if any of the injured soldiers there had seen or heard about you!" Jorel decided to breathe for a second.

Aron looked shocked. "So you only came to see if anyone knew about George?" 

"Yeah, I did. I wanted to see you, but George was the main reason why I was there." Jorel answered with hesitation.

"My visits were not in vain though, I was told something by someone..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

Jorel dragged himself along the street, this soldier has to be here somewhere! Apparently, he knew George, at least, that's what the locals had told him. Jorel's eyes soon caught hold of a man with a bandaged arm, buying some fruit. 

Jorel speed walked up to him. "Excuse me?"

"Ooo! You're American!" He laughed.

"Yeah, may I ask what happened to your arm?" Jorel asked, maybe it would be _too_ rude to just go straight onto the topic of the war.

"Hah, I was out in the trenches and one of the pesky little German shits somehow got over no-man's land and attacked us. He killed the majority of us in the corner, I was just shot in the arm while another soldier lunged at him and brutally ripped him apart because his gun wasn't loading. Quite the story to tell people." The man said.

"Do you know anyone called George Arthur Ragan?" Jorel then asked.

"I do! He was the bloke that lunged at the German, is he tall, muscular and has blue eyes?"

"Yes!" Jorel could feel the hope rise in his body.

"Then yeah, I know him." The man responded.

"How is he doing?" 

"Physically, fantastic. He's so strong, he can trumple any soldier that comes on his way. Mentally, not so much. Out of our squad, he's been the longest out there, the full 1 and a half years now. He's seen the most and because of that, the best way to describe him is two faced and paranoid. He goes from being a fearsome soldier to a small mouse but other then that, he's fine."

Jorel let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks, man"

"No problem, have a nice evening!" The man said as he walked off with a bag of fruit

Jorel walked back off in his own direction, his heart beat slowly going back to normal.He was thankful that George was alive, not well, but at least alive. Maybe it would of been better if he died there and never came back.

You'll understand soon.

\-----------------------------------

\---Jorel---

"For the next year of so, I spent my days praying and hoping that you would make it." Jorel wiped his eyes. "I guess it worked as I was eagerly told by Larissa that George was back in town, living in his own small house. I was so excited, wish I knew before of what type of place I would find..."

\----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

Jorel scurried along the street, looking out for the house labelled '333'. The war had finished and Jorel had been informed George was back alive, so why wouldn't he want to visit his very good friend?

"325.... 327.... 329....331...." Jorel muttered to himself as he passed the houses. It was hard to see the numbers, well, it would be, it is around 2am in the morning after all. "333!" Jorel's eyes sparkled with excitement.

He walked up to the front door and gave it two knocks.

.

 

.

 

.

Nothing.

He tried again, George might of not heard it the first time.

.

 

.

 

.

Still nothing.

He glanced around and noticed a missing persons poster up on the wall. 

_' Gracie Parks'_ , he read in his mind, _poor sod._

Jorel shook the thoughts away and turned the door handle, letting himself inside. The hallway had been decorated with.... nothing. No photos were hung, no paintings, only a sad, lonely, smashed mirror.

 _Weird,_ Jorel thought as a he took a couple of steps indoors, quietly shutting the unlocked door.

The place was lightly lit by some candles which had nearly burned out completely and dirt coated the corners of the room.

 _Must of had them lit all day then,_ Jorel shrugged as he entered the living room.

Only a old, _really_ dusty sofa sat in the middle of the room, facing towards a window which had its curtains pulled across. Some tissues and a bottle of whiskey sat on the floor in front of the sofa, the tissues having bloody fingerprints on them. Jorel shivered and walked past the room, heading straight across to another small hallway. An isolated door sat at the end of the hallway, which was shut. Jorel slowly made his way over, maybe George was in there? He placed his hand on the door knob. It was stone cold. He twisted it and slowly opened it, the door letting out a long, eery creek. He pushed the door fully open and looked in.

It was hard to see but Jorel's eyes quickly adjusted to the light. There was only a mattress in the corner and that was it other then some blankets. A man sat in the middle of the room, cross legged and staring out at the dark, starry night sky.

"George?" Jorel calmly said, not wanting to make him jump if he hadn't somehow heard him coming.

George turned his head to the side and looked at Jorel. He was _way_ more beefier and skinnier then the last time he saw him, his broad shoulders and large arms making his shirt tight. Dark, deep bags ringed his lifeless blue eyes. His skin was pale like snow and his hair had become a slight curly, dirty mess. It wasn't long, but his hidden inner curls were starting to show.

Jorel was shocked. The happy, fit, cocky, confident friend he had grown up with had changed into a paranoid, muscular, unsure, hesitant 28 year old man in the span of 4 years. His stomach knotted itself, hopefully this was the worst of if.

George just blinked before turning his head back away and staring out at the black inky sky. Jorel steadily walked next to George, looking down at the man. In front of George was 3, empty shot glasses, probably once filled with the whiskey which was sitting on the couch in the living room. Jorel sat down next to George, crossing his legs as well. George didn't even bat an eye at him, he was too focused staring at the stars. Jorel looked out too, but he couldn't see anything interesting.

"I didn't want to go." George suddenly said.

Jorel instantly noticed that his voice sounded much more... harsher and scratchier. There was no emotion in it.

"I tried to tell them I couldn't go, but they forced me." George continued, his eyes never looking away from the sky. "They told us that it would be over by Christmas, they told me I could go back home after Christmas." He pitifully laughed, "Weren't they fucking wrong?" 

Jorel almost seemed shocked by their bitterness from George. Sure, he could be like it sometimes in the past, but never this bad.

"4 years, 1564 days, 2252160 minutes, 135129600 seconds, and all of it was fucking wasted on a useless war." He snarled.

Jorel didn't want to say anything but he had to. Just as he was opening his mouth-

"Did you ever realise I saw all my friends be killed? Did you ever realise I saw my whole squad, except me and another bloke, get wiped out by just _one_ German soldier? Did you ever realise how good it felt to stick my fingers into his flesh and rip it apart?" George's eyes opened up wider, a maniacal look entering them. "After that, I realised that you can only take vermin out of the world by killing them, you can _never_ fix them."

Jorel was taken aback by the hatred boiling inside of George, he had _never_ been like this before, and Jorel didn't know what to say.

"I gave up writing to you after the German soldier attacked us because I realised that it didn't matter, I didn't matter and I was going to die anyway." George pulled his knees up to his chest, hugging them.

"But you didn't die though, that's good, isn't it?" Jorel tried to be positive.

"I died on the inside. Oh, I only wished I had been killed, maybe I wouldn't be in my misery now. I should of just gotten myself shot at dawn." George said with a huff.

Jorel frowned before wrapping an arm around George, pulling him in closer.

George let out a depressed sigh, placed his legs out straight and buried his head into Jorel's shoulder, shutting his eyes.

 _I guess some of his soft side is still left,_ Jorel smiled to himself.

"Fuck, I'm so tired, I haven't slept properly since 1916..." George moaned.

"Sleep then." Jorel replied with an inviting tone, causing George to smile, which Jorel just about saw. 

After a couple of minutes of fidgeting and complaining, Jorel ended up with a sleeping demon practically in his lap.

 _Good he is getting some sleep, looked like he hadn't slept in centuries ,_ Jorel placed a hand in George's hair and played with it.

It actually wasn't that dirty, it was probably just the candle lighting. Jorel looked out the window. It was surprisingly a rather nice view, calming. That's probably why George was looking out at it, to calm his jumping nerves. Jorel sighed and looked back down at George.

He guessed it would be his job now go look after this broken wreck.

\-----------------------------------

\---Jorel---

"Every two days I would come in and check on you. Some days you would barely speak, you would hide and cower in the corner of the room, watching me with wide eyes. Other days you would greet me and you would almost be bouncing off the walls, not able to sit down but sometimes you were really _really_ angry and hostile. I never understood it and I still don't. It was always a treat guessing what mood you would be in when I came round." Jorel tapped his foot on the floor and looked away from George. "My favourite time to come around was when you were bouncing off the walls, you weren't happy to say, but you were moving around a lot which meant you were distracted for a while. You never changed to any other emotions. You were rather paranoid, angry or energetic, it was like a looping film." 

Everyone had come quite and very intrigued with this story, Jorel guessed it was a strange case. 

"As all of you seemed so interested, why don't I describe what it was like in a bit more detail..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

More missing persons posters had been strung up, two more people gone.

_Howard and Richard Brennan._

Jorel pushed the door open.

Visit 20.  
40 days since he came back.

Jorel headed straight for the living room, ignoring the new holes in the hallway.

 _Probably had a panic attack,_ he guessed.

His eyes peered around the living room, scanning every nook and cranny. The place seemed dustier then normal and another bottle of empty jack sat on the side. In the corner of the room sat George, pushing himself into the corner while hugging his knees. His eyes burned into Jorel, giving him the clear indication of 'do not touch me'.

"So why are there holes in the hallway?" Jorel asked, picking up a bottle of half drunken whiskey.

"I punched the wall." George bluntly said, his eyes not leaving Jorel.

"Fair enough, also, how are you affording all this alcohol?" Jorel pointed towards the growing pile of liquor bottles in the corner opposite George.

"Mum gave me clothes. I sold them." He said with no shame or dignity.

"Shouldn't you be more grateful about the things your mum has given you?" 

George didn't respond, he just shrugged and kept staring at Jorel like a hawk. While Jorel picked up some of the empty bottles to chuck them, he kept noticing George was flashing glances at the window with wide eyes, looking scared. He also kept twitching madly, and grabbing the legs of his trousers tighter each time.

George's face developed into a frown very quickly. "Jorel?"

"Yes?"

"Can you shut the curtains?"

"No, you live your life with that curtain shut and you need some sunlight now."

"But _they're_ watching me again, _they're_ outside the window."

"Who?"

"You know _who._ "

"I don't."

George looked at him like he was mad for not knowing what he was talking about. " The one who watches me, the one who likes to talk to me all the time, the one who likes to poke, scratch and bite me when I am trying to sleep." George pulled his sleeve up to reveal a torn up arm.

"Oh god!" Jorel rushed over to him to get a better look but George pulled his sleeve back down in time.

"George, let me look!" Jorel grabbed his arm, causing George to try and smack Jorel around the face with his free hand.

Jorel held George down, sitting on his good arm and tangling his legs up with the kicking maniac's.

"Just-" Jorel tried to get his breathe back, -let me see!" He grabbed the sleeve and pulled it up, quickly grabbing the arm and pinning it up against the wall.

George balled his fist up and tried to jerk his arm away, but soon gave up once he realised he couldn't. Going up George's arms were layers and layers of scratches, fresh and old. 4 large bite marks had been sculpted into his flesh, one dangerously close to his wrist. Bruises were scattered around like a bush of rotting roses just waiting to fall off and little pinch marks had been pressed into his soft skin but what alarmed Jorel the most was that he noticed that under George's fingernails. Blood was stained under them, as well smeared on top. His knuckles were also torn, it looked rather fresh.

George let out a deep growl before using all of his strength in the one arm to shove Jorel away. Jorel only slightly stumbled but it was enough for George to ram him off him. Jorel scurried to his feet soon as he saw George rising to his.

If George was going to attack him, he wanted a head start at running.

"Get, the, fuck, out of my house." George started to stalk towards Jorel, his fist tightly curled up.

"Wait, I was jus-" Jorel took a step back.

"get tHE FUCK OUT-" Jorel was frozen to the spot, "-NOW!" He screamed, his voice piercing Jorel's ears.

Jorel hurried to the door, knowing George was right on his heels. Just as he approached the door frame, he felt two large hands being jabbed into his back, sending him flying out the house. The door was slammed dead shut with a massive slam.

He regretted doing that,

What the hell was he thinking?

::::::::::::::::::Two Days:::::::::::::::::::

Jorel walked back up to the house.

Another poster was stuck on the wall,

_' John Barry'_

Visit 21.  
42 days since he came back.

As much as he wanted to just leave George alone after what happened last time, he just couldn't. George was too close to Jorel's heart, he just had to help him.

Even before he could open up the door, George opened it up for him.

"I'm so sorry about last time!" He said with tears in his eyes. He pulled Jorel into a tight, warm hug, dragging him into the house and shutting the door with his foot.

"It's okay, dude." Jorel hugged him back.

George eventually let go and walked into the living room.

"Have you had your hair cut?" Jorel noticed his hair was shorter now.

"Yeah," he replied, tapping his fingers on the wall, "I got it cut yesterday."

"Ah, who done it? It looks nice."

"Molly done it for me, she decided to visit yesterday with Connor, and thank you." George nodded at him.

"Bit restless?" Jorel asked, looking around the room to try and see anything out of places, but everything was cleaned.

"Yeah, I didn't sleep last night and I only had a nap the night before." George walked over the a frame hanging on the wall and fixed it. Jorel cautiously walked over to the frame and looked at the photo. 

It was a nice family photo of the Ragans. It was old as Jorel could see that George only looked around 7 in it.

"Lovely photo." He commented.

"When life was easier." George replied, quickly moving to his makeshift bin, shoving something down it further before covering it properly.

Jorel thought that was weird but everything is weird with George at the moment, so he let it slide. George was in a slightly better mood then normal, so Jorel just decided to enjoy it then worry about what George is doing in his spare time.

He shouldn't of.

::::::::::::::::Eight Days:::::::::::::::::::

Jorel, once again, approached the door. More posters had clouded the village walls.

 _Sylvia Graham, Evan Cullen, Kelly Bell and Steven Hogan. Sick person whoever kidnapped or killed these people!_ Jorel thought 

Visit 29.  
58 days since he came back.

A bad feeling lurched in his stomach. It was a rainy day. Very rainy. Dark clouds had covered the sky like a blanket, thunder was booming and lighting was crashing.

 _Not a nice day today, can't believe it was so sunny last Wednesday,_ Jorel groaned in his mind.

He twisted the handle, praying to god that George would be in a good mood. Jorel quietly shut the door behind him, fresh punch holes in the hallway immediately catching his attention. He walked up to one of them, placing his fist in the hole where George's would of been.

 _Jesus, you know what they say about people with big hands,_ he thought as he removed his hand and strolled into the living room.

 _Big dick,_ Jorel laughed to himself before seeing the state the living room was in.

It was an absolute wreck. Broken glass was littered over the floor, the walls now stained with liquor.

"He's gonna get wasps in here if that isn't cleaned up." Jorel muttered out loud to himself.

The couch had been flipped on to its side, leaving behind small dents in the carpet where it originally sat.

 _I guess my prayers will not come true today,_ Jorel thought as he made his way over to George's room.

He breathed in, then out. Jorel would need all the courage he could get to remain alive if George was in a pissy mood. The hand of the Italian man placed itself on the door knob, slowly twisting it open.

He peered in.

No George.

"George?" He said out loud.

Nothing.

He walked back into the living room and checked all the corners.

Nothing.

Jorel became confused. George barely left the house, let alone be gone when he was due a visit.

Is he okay? 

He should be. He _is_ okay. The best idea would be to wait five or ten minutes. Jorel leaned up against the wall and started counting in his head.

Minute.

2 Minutes.

3 Minutes.

4 Minutes.

5 Minutes.

Jorel gulped. He better haven't done anything stupid.

6 Minutes.

7 Minutes.

8 Minutes.

9 Minutes.

10 Minutes.

Still nothing.

 _Oh fuck, he could of gone and killed himself!_ Jorel started panicking. _I should of been a better friend! I should of come round more oft-_

"What are _you_ doing here." A deep voice growled at Jorel, sending a sense of relief into him.

_Oh shit, he sounds pissed._

"I just came round to check on you and you weren't here." Jorel turned around to face George.

He was standing there, a fire blazing in his eyes and his arms crossed. George narrowed his eyes, that's when Jorel noticed his knuckles bleeding.

"Don't fucking ask." He snarled, balling his fist up even more.

"I wasn't going to." Jorel stared at his face, seeing small splatters of blood lying there along with his shirt. Something was sticking out in George's pocket, it was like a rectangle shape.

 _A flip knife?_ Jorel questioned himself.

"Stop fucking looking at me like I've just _killed_ someone." George's eyes suddenly grew dark after he said the last part.

"Did you..." Jorel's voice drifted off as he realised that's why he seems to be getting worse, it would also explain why he shoved that thing deeper into his bin!

"What? Why would I do that! Maybe your being the paranoid one here, not be." George remarked.

"You're not denying it." Jorel backed up against the wall.

"I'm not confirming it either. Why the fuck would I do that? Shit like that is sadistic!" To Jorel, it sounded like George was being truthful, but he knew George well enough that he is a good liar.

Jorel didn't say anything, his thoughts running wild. That's why there are so many missing posters around! But where would he dump the bodies?

"Seriously, Jorel, I haven't done shit." George said with a weird glint in his eyes. 

Jorel let out a sigh, the tension slightly dropping only to be replaced with awkwardness.

"I should go." Jorel muttered as he walked back George, avoiding eye contact.

"You should." Jorel could hear the hostility bounce of those words.

Jorel swiftly made his way to the door and leaving in the same, quick, manner. As he took off outside, he glanced around the village.

Another missing poster was up.

He walked up to one and read it.

_Name: Arthur Ragan, Age: 6, Gender: Male. He is small and has blue eyes and blond hair. If seen, please contact the police department._

Jorel was even more shocked. 

If George was behind all these missing cases, would he really kill his own son?

Not even time could tell Jorel.

\-----------------------------------

\---Jorel---

"I kept thinking about it, again and again and again but in the end, me believing that George hadn't totally lost his mind had won me over, so I just ignored the posters from then on." He said with a hint of regret in his voice. "The next big thing came up a couple of months later. I was meant to do a job for my dad and I completely forgot about it. I knew I would be in deep shit so I turned to the only person I could think of at the time...." 

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

Jorel banged his fist on George's door. He waited a couple of seconds before the door creaked open, revealing a scruffy looking George.

 _Energetic, he never opens the door this quickly, let alone answer it._ he thought to himself.

"George, I have a dilemma and you're smart so i was wondering if you could help me?" Jorel asked.

"I can." He responded, his shoulders relaxing instantly.

"Basically, my dad gave me a job of picking a package up from the north end. I only realised today that I have today and tomorrow to get it, what should I do?"

"Wait round the corner up the road to the left." George exited the house, shutting the door and locking it.

"Okay..." Jorel had no clue what he was going to do, but he trusted him so he walked to the corner.

George had sprinted off in the other directions, taking a sharp turn before being out of Jorel's sight. Jorel waited at the spot. It was oddly isolated, only the cool breeze of the air talking to Jorel. A car suddenly pulled up to where Jorel was.

"Get in!" George shouted from the drivers seat.

Jorel ran over, climbing in and sitting next to George. George smashed his foot on the peddle, reversed and sped off down the road.

"I didn't know you could drive or that you had a car." Jorel was very confused, George could barely pay the rent let alone afford a car. Actually, maybe he could, it was the shittiest car Jorel had ever been in.

"They taught us how to drive when we were training in the military, they also taught us how to break into cars too." George said suspiciously.

"Ahh, that's good then." Jorel replied.

"And I don't own a car."

"What?" Jorel's voice dropped.

"I don't own a car."

"Then who's car is this?" Jorel began panicking.

"I'm not really sure, I just broke into it and drove off." George slowed down the car as they entered country lanes.

Jorel couldn't say anything except...

"The fuck."

"There's no other way you could of gone up north." George kept his eyes on the road.

"The fuck, George." He repeated.

George didn't respond, he just continued driving. Jorel gave up questioning George and just accepted the fact he was in a stolen vehicle. He stared out the window, taking in the sights he could see.

Beautiful flowers had started the blossom out of the lush green brushes, the bright blue sky really bringing out their colour. Fields sat behind them which went on for miles, far enough away to the point the went outside of Jorel line of vision.

"We will head up north, grab the package and then stay in a cabin I own up in the woods around there." Jorel decided to explain the plan to George.

George didn't say anything, he just gave a small nod.

"Can I have a nap while your driving?" Jorel asked.

George nodded again.

Jorel smiled and stretched his body out, relaxing it then shifting around in his seat to get comfy. He shut his eyes, the heat of the sun caressing his skin. Darkness lurched over his vision, his eyes twitching open every so often. He gave up fighting the rest, he wanted it anyway, so he shut his eyes and let his dreams take him away for a short while.

::::::::A Couple of Hours Later:::::::

"Jorel.... Jorel.......... Jorel!" A voice woke him up.

"Yeah?" He groaned, rubbing his eyes and stretching quickly.

"I now have a dilemma."

"What is it..." He kept his eyes shut, not bothering to open them.

"I've run out of gas."

"What?" Jorel's eyes shot open as he sat up straight.

He glanced at the outside quickly. Night was quickly approaching, the sun slowly cowering away into its nest. The two boys were surrounded by woods.

"This is where my cabin is." He muttered. "Let's just get up, walk to it, rest and talk about it in the morning."

"Fine with me." George said, opening the door up and hopping out of it.

Jorel done the same, walking round to him. He noticed he couldn't stand still, fiddling his fingers and bouncing his leg slightly up and down. George was also staring deep into the forest at.... nothing, but he looked petrified at whatever he could see. Jorel climbed the fence into the forest and started walking, George close by his side.

They walked for a while and Jorel could tell that George was still on look out, but Jorel for once wasn't focused on that, he was focused on finding the cabin. Didn't take that long, it was only a 20 minute walk. Okay, maybe that is a long walk.

Jorel walked to the entrance and, well, entered, along with George behind him. It was very dusty in there.

"Well, good news is that we are here. Bad news, there's only one bed." Jorel turned to look at George.

"I'll sleep on the couch."

"You sure? There might be spiders."

"I've dealt with things worse then spiders, I should be fine."

"That's good." Jorel smiled.

George seemed to be calming down now, his personality not cocky as it normally was but it was better then Jorel had ever seen it.

Oh, only if it had stayed that way.

\-----------------------------------

\---Jorel---

"We're so close to the end of my story, what a shame." Jorel muttered to himself. "For the rest of the night, me and George just talked about different things like family and friends. I was getting tired so I decided to go have a wash or something and go to bed, so that what I done." Jorel completely turned his head away from George. "Only if I knew what was going to happen..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

Jorel buttoned up his shirt and unlocked the bathroom door, fully dressed again.

He noticed George was by the window, clenching the window ledge, tears falling from his eyes. His arms were fully tensed, his muscles really showing. George's eyes were wide open but they were dead, drained from all emotion. Jorel could see that his knuckles looked like they were about to split from the amount of force he was using to hold onto the window frame.

"George." Jorel said his name.

George head snapped round to look at Jorel, his eyes now filling with rage.

"You." A full on snarl came onto George's face as he straightened his back, making himself look taller and larger then he already was.

"George?" Jorel became scared. "It's me, Jorel, your friend?" 

"You." He repeated, his grip on the window ledge tightening even more. "why the fUCK DID YOU-" He raised his fist and sent it through the window, shattering it into a thousand tiny, sharp pieces.

Jorel took a step back.

"Please, George, you're scaring me...." Tears started to swell up at the corners of his eyes.

"Good! You deserve to be fucking scared after what you did!" George growled, baring his teeth.

"George... I've done nothing to you..." Jorel was getting confused. 

"Oh really? So fucking killing all my fucking friends means nothing to you!" He shouted, a look of lunacy entering his eyes. "I'll kill you again, worse then what I did last time. I'll do you a favour and fucking tear your eyes out now so you don't have to see what I'm going to do to you." All look and thought of remorse had left George.

Tears started dripping down Jorel's face, "George... it's me, Jorel Decker, one of your close friends, the one you met went you were 6, the one you met your ex-wife with, the one who helped you when you were in troubled times?"

George didn't respond to what Jorel said, the only thing he was responding to was what the voices in his head was telling him and what he was hallucinating. Jorel suddenly sprinted for the door. If he was going to get out alive, he bette-

George lunged at him, grabbing his clothes with tight fists and smashing him head first into the ground. He then sent a fury of fists into Jorel's ribs, loud cracks soon being heard. Jorel let out a scream, kicking George ferociously with his back legs. George let out a grunt as Jorel felt one of his feet sink into the man's stomach. George took a couple steps back for a moment.

Jorel saw his opportunity so he shot up to his feet, ready to run-

A fist came straight for Jorel's direction, lucky him because he saw it and jumped the side, only to be met by another one which sent him falling back to the ground. Jorel could hear the blood pumping though his veins, his adrenaline being released at a higher concentration now. George stood over the top of Jorel, his breaths deep and heavy. Jorel could see the inferno burning in the man's eyes, not even the deepest pits of hell could ever match the look in George's eyes. George then moved again ,leaning down and picking Jorel up by the collar of his shirt. Jorel thought for a moment he might be able to get a fair fight as he started kicking his legs again, but George quickly moved his hand to the back of Jorel's collar.

Jorel was unsure what he was going to do. George could do anything- beat, kill, rape. The possibilities were endless.

George decided to take the beating route. He decided this by smashing the front of Jorel's face into the wooden wall, over and over again. The sound of slight cracking and thumps were occurring along with Jorel's short gasps of breath when his head was pulled away from the wall. Jorel honestly didn't want to look at the mess his body was in, fuck, he could barely see past the striking pain his face was insuring every five seconds.

George was getting bored quickly of doing this, soon dropping Jorel on the ground and rushing off to the kitchen.

Bruises had already started to form on the poor boys face, mainly his nose, forehead and cheeks. Jorel was also sure his ribs were possibly cracked and beyond bruised but that wasn't the end of it it. Blood was flowing out of his nose, blood also mixing with his saliva in his mouth as his teeth had crammed themselves into his gum every time he hit the wall. A cut above his eyebrow was also not helping his increasing blood loss, the blood dripping down into his eye, making the white part be filled with the liquid. He blinked rapidly, hating the feeling of it in his eye, but he had more problems to worry about then a bit of blood in his eye. Talking of eyes, his were starting to swell up which meant it was getting harder for him to see but he wouldn't be let down by that.

Jorel attempted to stand up, placing his shaky arms by his side. He pushed as hard as he could, using the thought of 'the door is only a couple metres away'. All of his might and strength was used to push himself up, which he accomplished in the end. He was badly light headed, swaying side from side with every baby step he took 

"where tHE FUCK IS IT!" Jorel heard a loud smash come from the kitchen, the sound of metal crashing to the floor. He then heard George say in a mischievous but horrifying voice, "there you are."

Foot steps came closer to Jorel's direction, making him panic while trying to frantically trying to push the front door open. Jorel then felt two orbs of death burn into his skin, striking him deep into his heart. Everything went silent, no birds were singing, no wind was howling, not a single noise. The only noise Jorel could hear was the noise of growing footsteps. 

A large hand was placed on Jorel's shoulder, spinning him around, making him face his killer.

Jorel could see his own blood splattered on George's clothes, face, hands, skin and shoes. _His_ own blood. Jorel felt like this short second went on for hours. This short second of last moment went on for hours.

George raised an object up in the air, Jorel's vision was too blurry to identify what it specifically wa-

Slash.

Thump.

Jorel's body fell to the ground, almost lifeless. He tried to let out a scream but only a weak, muffled whine escaped his throat.

Jorel's eyes darted around, trying to see what happened.

He could see red, lots of it, too much of it.

He could feel his neck burning deeply, it was bad.

Darkness crept over his vision but he thought it off, focusing on the light in the distance.

What could he see?

Two young boys, teenagers, playing and laughing.

They were chucking a ball around enjoying their time together.

He could just about see their eye colour through their black silhouettes. One had browny-hazely eyes while the other had blue.

Jorel coughed, a warm liquid splattered in his mouth as he done it.

"George...?" He whispered, the black figure coming clearer.

He looked so young and so happy, not a care in the world. He had the biggest smile on his face.

_"Come on Jorel! Enjoy life for once, we only have one chance!"_

"Jorel...?" Jorel suddenly hear a voice in the distant, it was confused.

"Oh no no no!" Something cold was dropping down onto his face, mixing with his own.

Tears.

"Jorel...." The voice called again.

Jorel tried to talk but he couldn't, darkness engulfing his vision, only the sense of sound ringing in his ears remained, he was too weak to even lift a finger.

"Jorel!" The call sounded broken and hurt, like they were crying as they said it.

But he was unsure. He was only sure that this was the end.

 _Finally..._ Jorel relaxed his body, letting the darkness wrap its wings around him, _I can go home..._

"J-" He heard nothing more.

Nothing hurt anymore. Maybe there isn't a god, Jorel would be fine with that.

Sleeping in this internal abyss would be absolute bliss after all this chaos.

\-----------------------------------

\---Jorel---

"I died 1919, bled out from my wounds." He kept his back towards George.

Everyone looked shocked.

They couldn't decide what to feel.

Danny was looking shocked at Jorel. Jordon looked terrified at what he heard. Aron looked half-shocked, the rest of the story still processing through his mind. Dylan was in between feeling sorry for Jorel and being pissed at George and Matthew looked absolutely furious with George.

Jorel turned and looked at George, seeing instantly he was looking away with shame.

 _Finally! A glimpse of emotion in him._ Jorel scowled in his mind.

He was bothered by his death, but he wasn't angry at George. Jorel knew that the person who attacked him may of looked like George, but it wasn't .

It wasn't George Arthur Ragan.

"What did you kill me with anyway?" Jorel randomly asked.

"It was an axe." He bluntly said, shutting and screwing up his face as all of his own story came back to him.

"Ah! The last time I get to say this, what a shame." The chairman shook his head.

"George," The chairman twisted his head round to face George.

"Why don't you tell us your story?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so long, and only George's chapter left now! Such fun! Hahahahaahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.
> 
> Question of the chapter-
> 
> What deadly sin are you?
> 
> Wrath


	8. George's Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 23310 words. Long ass chapter so buckle your seat belts and enjoy

\---George---

"My name is George Arthur Ragan and I was born on the 24th of June, 1890. I was born in America but my all my family originally came from Ireland. We all also seemed to have children with Irish women, guess I broke the tradition." George folded his arms and lightly laughed to himself. "I have 2 siblings, a younger brother and younger sister called Connor and Molly. I never really liked Connor when I was younger; he was annoying and a brat but I've always liked Molly. _Everybody_ liked Molly. I guess it was her sweet personality, which I was obviously lacking in and I still am." George looked around at all the eyes burning into him after what Jorel had said. 

"You weren't that bad-" Jorel started to try and defend him.

"Don't interrupt me." George shot back.

Jorel stayed quiet, giving George the hairy-eyeball.

"Why don’t we go back to when we first met…"

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

George gripped his brother's hand tightly.

"Can we hurry up?" Connor, his younger brother, moaned.

"No." 

"What if we run?"

"If you fall over dad will kill me."

"Ugh." Another groaned escaped Connor but George ignored it.

George continued to pace down the alley way.

It was his duty to take his younger brother to school and pick him up after. Why? His dad would work till 7pm and his mum had to look after Molly, their newborn sister, while keeping the house tidy and cook for everyone. This meant he was the only one available to get him to and back safely.

It was a shitty job for George, but he wouldn't dare defy his father's words. Connor was dad’s favorite child at the moment and the tall Irish man would surely give George a fate worse than death if Connor ever went missing. 

They walked further, silence filling the frosty air. Connor was being quiet for once. It was a relief for George but he could see why he was being quiet. Visible, large bags were hanging under his light, aquamarine blue eyes. George felt tired too, finding himself shutting his eyes every 2 seconds only to shake himself back awake.

He had a long day -reading, math, English, writing and P.E, _which was more like army practice-_ was a lot for a 7-year-old. George didn't get much sleep either, his room was always damp and cold even with the fire, Connor always snored and the sound of his mum faffing around with his younger sister then his dad shouting at her to sleep were the only things he could hear throughout the night.

He shut his eyes for a split second, letting the peace flow into his body before he got home.

 _Hah, I'll need it after dad gets back,_ George smiled to himself.

George continued walking, not really paying attention to anything else in the world-

_Smash!_

George took some steps back, a pain soaring through his head.

 _Who the fuck is done that!_ Rage started to circulate throughout his body. 

George looked up, his eyes burning into the person who dared to bump into him.

 _Oh shit,_ Fear then entered his body like a tsunami, making him take a step back. _That's Miles Decker's son, isn’t it!_ George had heard many stories about Miles. He was rich, had lots of power and had the capability to get people killed on the spot.

George panicked.

What was he going to say to the son of a godfather of _the_ mafia?

"I'm so sorry!" George scrambled about in his mind to get his words together. Maybe pleading like he was about to be killed would actually stop him from being killed.

"It's fine" The kid started to speak, acting weirdly calm.

 _I wouldn't be like that_ George remarked to himself.

"Jorel! Get away from _it_ this instant!" A French voice shouted from down the hallway, sprinting up to Jorel and looking at him. "Are you okay? Did that _thing_ hurt you?" She bent down and checked Jorel, boring her eyes into George every chance she got. 

"I'm... sorry." George muttered, fully embarrassed, before re-grabbing his brothers hand before running off. 

George wasn't sorry, he was far from it really but _you have to be nice to people_ , as his mum would say to him.

He ran as far as his legs could take him before he felt tired, making him eventually slow down.

"Bawk-bawk." The sound of a chicken came from Connor, obviously mocking George.

"Oh, be quiet, you!" George ruffled his hair violently, walking at a slower pace now. 

"If I bumped into you, you would have smacked me back to Ireland, so why did you just let that kid go?" Connor complained, once again.

 _Does he have to question everything I say?_

"His father is high up in power and I ain't messing with that." George exited the alleyway, seeing the door of his house ahead of him.

" _I'm not messing with that,_ should be the correct grammar." Connor used the same mocking tone.

George just rolled his eyes, "You sound just like dad."

He walked up the steps, not waiting for a response from the gremlin, placing a hand on the door knob and twisting it.

 _I did what I needed to do, I shouldn't get told off or beaten,_ George sighed and pushed the door open.

Connor shoved George to the side and ran indoors, shouting out something to get his mother's attention. George quietly shut the door, soon following his brother to the living room where he was with their mum. She was talking to Connor in Irish, her 1-month old daughter cradled in her protective arms.

"Nice day at school?" She suddenly asked George.

"It was fine." George replied with a shrug.

"Good." Terry looked back down at the child in her arms.

George stared at his sister, she was sweet and quiet, unlike Connor. She had the same blue eyes that were shared by her father and her two older brothers. Molly had bright, blonde hair and a cute, small, cheeky smile.

"Your father will be home soon," she suddenly said, gaining George's attention once again, "I know you are tired but please go upstairs and light the fire up in your room. I don't want him to shout at you again because Connor complained about being cold."

George just gave a her a nod and whisked up the stairs, tiny, little ‘thuds’ appearing as he ran. As he entered the room, he spotted all the things he would need laid out in front of the fire place.

 _Nice of her to get it out already._

He chucked the coal, wood and paper on top of the already burnt stack. The coal seemed rather heavy for little George, but he was determined he could do it. He lit the fuel, watching the fire engulf the paper and catch onto the wood.

 _God, the heat feels so good,_ George sat down in front of it, his eyes mesmerised by the dancing flames.

His eyes shut, the heat bouncing off his body sending waves of calmness into him, making him instinctively lie on to his side. It wouldn't hurt to lie there got another minute or so, right?

George let his body relax, his breathing slowing down. Images and thoughts bounced throughout his mind about what he had done today, what people had said, what was going to happen tomorrow and what has already happened.

A minute passed, but George didn't stir.

A deep sleep had taken over him and there was nothing he could do now.

\-----------------------------------

\---George---

"My father was a _very_ scary man. 6"10' or 6"9', bad attitude and a bit of a psychopathic personality." George's eyes darkened. "He was horrible when I was younger, mainly to me and my mum. Connor escaped the worst of the beatings because he was younger. Molly had only recently been born before he left so she was safe, she actually always got it lucky, Kevin really loved her whenever he would see her out and about.”

“That’s unfair.” Dylan’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, it was.” George agreed with a deep sigh. “He would beat me with his belt when I done something he didn’t like For example, fighting with my brother or as I explained a couple minutes ago, my brother complaining to him about being cold. " George twiddled with his fingers.

"Beating your children is a bit harsh, don’t you think?” Dylan looked round at everyone. “Like, my dad would only hit me with a stick or flip flop, but it would never be full out beatings." Dylan then muttered out loud.

George looked at Jorel, "The punishment back then for bad behaviour would be beating, that's what just happened." Jorel nodded in agreement. "It wasn't like I was beaten every day of my life, it was only when I had done something wrong. Well, sometimes I done nothing and it was just so I didn't do anything in the future." George shrugged at the logic. “Anyway," George got back on track, " Kevin would come home every night, complain about how shitty his job was, interrogate me about what I had done at school, most of the time criticising something about me like my looks and if it was a really bad day, he would argue with my mum. Maybe him being a bad parent was the reason why I was a shit one myself." He scoffed. "Most of my childhood I did grow up with my mum and dad, well, for the first 7 years at least. They immediately split up after the incident of when I pushed Connor down the stairs." George continued.

"But you only pushed him down the stairs," Danny suddenly piped in, "you didn't kill him."

"Don't defend him." Matthew whispered to Danny, only to be ignored by the bleached, blond-haired man.

George ignored him too, biting his tongue from saying anything rude. “My mum had enough of the way he was treating me and her, the last straw was what he done to me as a punishment..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

"Oh, Miles! Come in, come in!" George heard some voices off in the distance, coming from the front door. 

George looked up and out at the hallway, straining his ears to see if he could hear anything else.

"Jorel, this is Terry. Terry is Kevin's wife, by the way." George then heard.

"George, ignore what's going on and what they are saying. Focus, kid, or you won't get far in _this_ life." Kevin, his father, spoke in Irish.

George didn't respond, he just looked back down at the book being held in front of him.

"Nice to meet you, Jorel. The last time I saw you was when you so small, he was so cute! Follow me." George's ears, once again, picked up his mother’s voice again.

"For god’s sake kid, just focus!" His father growled, still sticking to his native language.

"But I want to know who's with her!" George responded and looked up at him, not giving up, his father’s arrogance definitely passed down on to him.

His father listened out to who was talking before continuing.

"It's a friend of mine. If we start chatting then you continue reading, okay?"

"Okay." George said with a small nod, the will of wanting to argue suddenly disintegrating. 

As the footsteps came closer in a matter of seconds, George looked up from the book again, seeing him mum and another man standing in the door way.

"Ah, nice to see you again, Miles." Kevin said in his grumbly, deep voice.

"Yeah, nice to see you again, pal." Miles responded with a grin.

He wasn't the tallest, quite short for a man but George couldn't talk, he was 3-4 years older than Connor yet he was catching up to Georges height too quickly. Miles had a pretty cool looking moustache and he was dressed rather fancy for people who live in their shabby village. He definitely didn’t look like the godfather he had been told to fear.

Miles looked down behind him and took a step to the side, revealing a kid with black hair and brown eyes-

"It's you!" George clenched his fists.

_Smug bitch thinks he can come in here and rule all of this town! He's got another thing coming..._

"Show some respect, George." He could feel that his father is about to backhand him to China if he continued acting like that.

George huffed but stayed quiet, boring his eyes into Jorel.

"You can sit over there," Terry pointed towards an empty chair sitting across from Kevin and George.

"Thank you." Miles smiled at George's mother before walking to the chair and taking a seat.

Jorel was right behind him, clearly avoiding eye contact with George. 

"So," Miles started talking, "how's Molly?"

"She's okay at the moment. I'm surprised though. She's a quiet baby but I don't think that will last, looking at how George and Connor have grown." Kevin answered.

 _I'm not that noisy!_ He narrowed his eyes.

"But yeah, she's fine." George then remembered what his father told him to do, keep reading.

He picked up the book with his small hands and pulled it towards him.

"That's good." The voice of Miles distracted him again.

 _No, ignore it. Dad will be annoyed,_ George started to read the first line of where they left it off. He was reading this boring as shit book about the Irish history, which was funnily enough written in Irish.

"Wow, I'm surprised little George can read that quickly." Miles voice, once again, interrupted him.

 _Oh for fucks sake!_ George grabbed the book harshly.

"I made sure that I taught him how to read, it's an important skill in life." His father started rambling on, speaking the bullshit he did which made George roll his eyes, as usual.

"Why don't you two play upstairs?" Kevin suddenly said, George feeling his father's massive hand, which was originally resting on his leg, grip tightly, pinching his soft skin. 

George knew what this meant. This meant _you go play upstairs, now._

"Sure," George pulled a fake smile, the pressure on his thigh immediate ceasing, "Come on." He hopped of his dad's lap, burning his eyes back into Jorel.

Jorel jumped off his own father's lap and walked up the George, looking nervous as shit.

"Let's go" George just said, walking out the room and down the hallway. He walked part of the way down before stopping, waiting for Jorel to get closer to him.

 _I’ll show him!_

George lunged at Jorel, grabbing him by his by his shoulders and smashing him against the wall. "Fucking mess with anything and they won't find your body. No touching nothing in the room, _nothing_ " George snarled. "I don't want to hang out with you, so, I'll just leave you to play with Connor and I'll just be in the room, reading or doing whatever, okay?" George gave _the look_ his father would give to George back to Jorel.

"Okay." The other boy gulped as George released him.

"Connor!" George shouted out, his voice echoing throughout the vacant house.

_Probably being busy being an arse-licker._

Connor skidded out from the kitchen, cheeky grin on his face. The two said hello by just making eye contact, George not wanting to talk to the little goblin he called his brother. Connor laughed and shot up the stairs, George hot on his trail. He knew Jorel was behind him but George didn't give a honest-shit, he could fall and break his nose on the stairs for all he cared.

George slowed down and walked into his and his brother's room, instantly spotting their pet cat, Henry, lying in front of the fire on George's bed blankets. He was softly purring, his paws twitching.

"Does everyone in this family have blue eyes?" Jorel blurted out loud after looking at the cat.

Just as George was about to sarcastically reply, Connor took his chance to talk.

"I guess so," Connor said in a sweet voice, "that's Henry by the way."

 _Fucking show off,_ George scolded in his mind.

"Don't try and stroke him, he'll claw your eyeballs out." George bent down and stroked the cats head, a much louder purr erupting from it almost immediately.

"Anyway, this is _my_ room!" Connor boasted.

 _This is 'our' room, actually._ George thought to himself.

"I have my bed, a chair, my clothe pile, and one book. Why only one?" George let out a sigh, knowing what Connor was going to say. "I'm lucky. Mum and dad make George read allllllllllllllllllllllll the time, I don't have to though!" An evil smirk came onto Connor’s face as he turned around and looked at George.

"You know, George," Connor took a step closer to him, “they only make you do that ‘cause they don't love you. They love me more. I'm their favourite child and I always will be. You'll never live up to dad's expectations, let alone-" George's shoulders tensed up, "his height."

Rage bubbled over in George, making him stand up in an instant and launch himself at his little brother. Connor giggled and moved to the side before running out the bedroom, still laughing his arse off. George followed him, no good intentions coming to mind.

Connor halted at the top of the stairs, looking down them, George seeing his chance loud and clear.

"You can't be tall with broken legs, can you, Connor?" He said darkly, his eyes widening.

"You can-" 

George dug his fingers into his brother's back, using all of his might to send him flying down the stairs. George watched Connor fall, every part of his body smacking down on to a different step before he smacked his nose on to the final step. He turned towards Jorel, seeing him with a face of horror.

"You'll be next." He said with no remorse.

A cry was let out by the hurt gremlin, well, it was more of a scream.

"Connor!" His mother shouted, running over to him. 

She bent down next to him, lifting his face up before gasping. Theresa picked him up and rushed him to the kitchen to try and stop the blood flooding out of his nose.

"I shouldn't have done that." Realisation flooded George along with fear.

"Of course you shouldn't of! You hurt hi-" Jorel started with edge to his voice.

"No, not that." George shook his head, "Dad..." He whispered, fear growing inside of his stomach.

He was dead meat; his dad would barely tolerate him talking back, let alone hurting his younger brother. George knew he was going to get a beating of a lifetime, nothing was convincing him otherwise.

"Jorel! Please come down here!" Miles' voice pierced George's ears.

"Okay!" Jorel shouted down to him, not realising the danger George was now in.

Jorel ran down the stairs, jumping over the small splatters of blood at the bottom. George followed, fear consuming every part of him.

"Jorel, I think it's best we head home." Miles spoke as the two boys got closer to their fathers.

Jorel instinctively walked towards Miles, leaving George to face the beast alone. Kevin was standing beside Miles, arms crossed and eyes burning through his glasses. He stood tall, making George instinctively know that this is not going to end in his favour, no chance.

"Thanks for having us round." Miles turned his head to Kevin and gave a weak smile.

Kevin just nodded, too angry to say anything else.

Miles took Jorel's hand and walked towards the front door, not daring to look back. When they got far enough away, that’s when Kevin started talking.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" His voice was low and threatening.

"I- I didn't mean to! It was a mistake." Tears started to stream down George's face before he even got the beating.

"Oh really? How do you fucking accidentally push your brother down the stairs?" Kevin took a step towards George, making George take one back with fear. George felt so small, well, he was. His father was 6'10 while he was barely 3'10.

The front door slowly shut and George knew that is when things will kick off.

 _I should of ran out when I had the chance!_ George regretted.

"So,” The man tensed up just as George did,” will you fucking answer me then!" He shouted at George, a clear snarl on his face.

"I-he- he made fun of me!" George responded.

"And that gives you the excuse to push him down the stairs?" Kevin's fist curled up.

George didn't respond, he just let the tears fall. He had nothing else to say.

"DOES IT?" Kevin screamed at George.

"No!" He shouted back, his tears dropping on the floor, pitiful whimpers escaping him.

"OF COURSE IT FUCKING DOESN'T!" Kevin raised his hand in the air, smacking George round the face with the back of his large, scarred hand.

George went crashing to the floor, a striking pain traveling throughout his cheeks. He tried to stand up, his arms shaking and his eyes squinted and watering.

George could just about hear the sound of a belt being unbuckled. He prepared himself for the pain about to come, no mercy was ever shown in these circumstanc-

George let out a blood curling-scream as a large, thick belt lashed his back.

"IM SORRY!" George screamed out as another lash was sentenced to his back.

His shaking arms gave-way, making him crash to the cold, hard, wooden ground, the belt smashing against him seeming not to cease. 

The lashes were harsh and full force was used on every, single, one of them. Every lash would send a spasm of pain throughout Georges tiny, shaking body, it would release a scream from his aching lungs, paint his body black and blue from head to toe, make him to spit more blood out from his bleeding gums. Every lash felt a step closer to death.

Then it stopped for a second.

George was already curled up into a ball on the floor to protect his chest, tears staining the wood below him. George lifted his head up to see what was going on-

The belt was flung against his body again, except it smacked him straight in the mouth.

George placed his hands over his mouth instinctively, wincing at the pain before feeling and seeing a dark, red liquid drip on to his quivering hand.

"Kevin! That is enough!" He heard his mother say.

His father ignored it, hitting George again with the belt. Another whine escaped George, all energy to scream or cry now drained from him.

"I said, _that is enough_." Terry said in a sterner voice.

Yet again, he lashed him another time, making George curl up even tighter.

"KEVIN!" Terry shouted at him.

George opened one eye to see what was going on. Kevin had his head turned towards Terry, his eyes full of a bubbling, raving anger. Terry was standing in the door way of the kitchen, hiding something behind her slender back.

"You've done enough. I'm sure he understands that he done something bad and he's deeply sorry." Terry said, trying to reason with the mad-man.

"He could have killed Connor." Kevin spoke darkly.

"But he didn't. Continue beating George like that and you will be the one killing."

"The kid needs to learn his lessons, he's always pushing the fucking boundaries. You're just too soft on him." Kevin turned away from his wife and looked back down at George, raising the belt back up into the air.

George shut his eyes immediately and hugged himself even tighter, getting ready for the lash. George heard the belt hitting something, but he strangely didn't feel anything.

He opened his eyes and saw his mother standing over him, protecting him. One of her hands were out defensively, making Kevin keep a distance between the three of them, a patch of bright red on her little, shaking arm. 

_She took a blow for me?_ George was confused but kept quiet, watching the proper fight which was about to break out.

"Move." Kevin venomously spat at Terry.

"No." Terry replied, narrowing her eyes. "This is _my_ house, I bought it and you moved in. So, you can get out, _now_." She commanded.

Kevin bitterly laughed, "You think you can kick me out of here? I'm the husband, I'm the man in charge of the family, you listen to _me_ , not the other way around.”  
continued to protect George.

“Do you think I really care about you or George?” He started. “For fucks sake, wake up! If I really loved you then do you think that the only reason I enjoy being a part of this stupid, fucking family, was because of the sex? My god, you're fucking dumb to believe ‘till death do us part.” Terry looked shocked, her eyes wide open with disbelief and disgust.

There was a moment of silenc  
Terry didn’t speak, she just  
e.

Kevin didn’t move, standing his ground. Theresa was starting to fume with the same hatred he was, George getting more scared by the second.

“Get. Out." Her voice was filled with something George had never heard before, something he didn't want to hear again. 

"Make me." Kevin challenged.

Terry pulled her free hand out from hiding behind her back, a tiny, sharp, kitchen knife gripped in her small hand. " _Get. Out._ " She repeated.

Kevin's eyes had opened up a bit more in alarm, but no emotion was shown in them.

Definitely no fear.

“ _Get out._ ” He mocked her voice with a snort, his fists curling up, getting ready to attack his wife.

Terry lunged at him, the knife sticking its way towards Kevin's chest. He took some steps back down the hallway, stunned that she actually tried to do that.

She went for him again, aiming for his stomach this time but he grabbed her wrist, eyes darkening with the sick thoughts of what he was going to do with her, what her punishment would be.

"No! Please!" George shouted out. His didn't want to think the torture, rape, and beating she could go through because of this, because of him.

Terry twisted the knife round and aimed for his wrist, making him let go of her hand. She didn't go to stab him this time, instead, she pointed the knife to his neck, fiery hell living in both of the adult’s eyes. 

"Leave." Her words with laced with cyanide.

Kevin narrowed his eyes and thought about it for a second, not flinching a single bit with the blade up against his neck. 

"Fine." He said in the end with a sigh, taking a step back and walking towards the door.

Terry just watched, no mercy in her dark, mossy green eyes. Kevin opened the door, took a step outside, bored his eyes into George one last time and slammed the door shut behind him, sending vibrations throughout the whole house.

Terry's shoulders were beyond tense, her body still shaking.

"I'm sorry you had to see that,” George looked up from the ground,” you’re not going to forget that too easily." Terry turned her head round to look at George, who was breathing heavily, still recovering from his beating.

She dropped the knife, letting the blade hit the wooden floor with a ‘clunk’.

A tear fell from her eye, traveling down her cheek to her jawline. "I should have done something earlier, I should have seen the signs." She sighed, another tear escaping her eye.

“It wasn’t your fault, it was mine.” George quietly admitted, moving his body around so he was hugging his legs.

"When I first met him,” Terry ignored what he said. “he was so nice and caring. I was breaking him up from a fight, it was him against someone else. We just started talking from there and we ended up married after a couple of years. He was such a lovely man, whatever happened?" She smiled at the wonderful memories before frowning. She walked over to George and bent down in front of him.

George looked deep into her eyes, his lip no longer bleeding. "George, don’t end up like him. Be kind, be forgiving, don’t lay a hand on anyone, promise me?"

George said nothing, he just kept looking up at her. His father just walked out, he was still in shock.

Forever? George was unsure about that.

His mother wrapped her arms round George, forgetting about the beating he had just received and hugged him tightly. "I know you'll never do anything like that," George her tears fall on to his shoulder,

"I know you won't."

\-----------------------------------

\---George---

"I didn't see my dad again for 3 years after that. My mum got remarried when I was 8 to this Jewish bloke, completely changing her religion just to be with him. My sister and brother followed, but I didn't, I decided to stick with being Catholic.” George's eyes slightly clouded over with more pain. “I didn't get along with my stepdad either. Sure, he was kinder then my real dad but I could never see him as my dad or even any-sort of father-figure." George seemed unfazed from what he had experienced.

“Wait,” Jordon looked at George, “the scar over your lip, is that because of…?”

“No, that scar is from the war, but there is a tiny one left from being smacked around the face.” George lifted his lip up, a tiny, straight lined scar running over his lip.

"Another question, when did you see him again? Him being your dad, of course." Jordon asked, not attempting to figure out the math.

"Well," George smiled to himself, putting his head in one of his hands, " I was 7 when he was kicked out and 3 years later I saw him, so how old did that make me then?" 

"10." Jordon replied after 5 seconds.

"Well done!" George grinned sarcastically.

"Don't be so rude." Jorel scolded him, earning an eye roll from George.

"Of course, I got more used to Jorel and we got along in the end. It was kinda weird though as our dads were friends which meant between the ages of 7-10, Jorel saw my dad more than I did." George thought about it and fixed his hat at the same time.

"A couple of times I did ask him if he had seen you and your siblings recently but he would just smile and just say _don't worry about it._ " Jorel added in.

“Surprised you got an answer.” He scoffed to himself. “The next time I saw him was when my mum had sent me and my brother out to buy some food for her..."

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

"Sean sells some cheap veg." Connor started to think of the places where they could go to get what they needed.

"But Sean is a pedophile, Mabel may charge more but at least we won't have to risk the chance of being touched." 10-year old George told his brother.

"You think things through too much; you need to be more chilled." 7-year old Connor said, nodding his head at the same time.

"God, that first bit made you sound like dad." George rolled his eyes.

" _To get far in life, you must learn to read._ " Connor mocked their fathers voice, making George laugh.

The two boys approached Mabel's stall, the young lady rearranging some of the stuff she was selling.

"And what can I get for you two?" She asked, not even looking at them.

"2 carrots, 3 potatoes and..." Connors voice drifted off as he looked around at what else was there.

"That's all." George cut him off, handing Mabel the money.

Connor looked at him shocked, mouth open and eyes wide, probably thinking _how dare you! I was going to get myself a treat!_

"Keep your mouth open like that and it won't shut ever again." George wittily said with a cheeky grin, making Connor shut it.

"Here you go, tell Terry I said hi." Mabel handed George a small bag full of what they asked for.

George nodded to say thank you, mentally getting ready and preparing his insults so he could argue with Connor and win, as usual. The two walked off, chatting and nattering while going to the fish monger.

"I'll definitely be taller then you when we are older."

"No, you won't."

"I will, I'm not far from your height at the moment."

"I'll get my growth spurt soon."

"So you'll match mum's height?"

"You'll be matching my fist in a minute."

"If you do, you can explain to mum why- Dad." Connor stopped walked, suddenly exclaiming what he saw.

"What?" George stopped walking as well and looked back at his brother.

"Dad." He repeated, looking to his side.

George looked there too.

A very, _very_ , tall man stood five metres away from them. He had short, dark, blond hair and was talking to another shorter bloke, his long arms crossed as he did. His large, broad back was turned to them, a tight shirt tugging on his to tall frame.

 _Oh shit, it is dad,_ George thought, getting worried.

"Let's go over." Connor turned to George and said.

"No, he left for a reason," memories flashed through his mind, "let's just go to Hugh, get the fish and go back home-" But before George could finish his sentence, Connor had already run off to Kevin.

George’s gut feeling was telling him that this wasn’t going to end well but he couldn’t just leave his brother in the middle of market, as much as he wanted to. He looked back over to Connor and their dad. Kevin was kneeling down in front of Connor, smiling and talking to him. George wanted to go over and join too but anxiety was holding him back.

Why?

He was the reason Kevin was no longer apart of their lives. He was the reason Molly and Connor didn't have their real father living with them.

George swallowed his fear and walked over, just to get Connor back.

As he approached the two, his father's eyes narrowed and darkened with anger. That then was the point when George regretted walking over.

“You've grown so well,” Kevin pinched Connor’s cheek, “and then there's you.” He snarled at George.

George felt embarrassment take over his body, nobody would want their father to talk lowly of them.

“Come to ruin something else, kid?” Kevin continued talking, George looking at his brother. Connor was just standing there, looking at Kevin then at George then at Kevin then back at George.

“Come on, Connor,” George ignored him, “let's go home.” He spoke softly, trying to lure him over.

“Oh, so now you're ignoring me?” Kevin stood up straight, his tall, strong body sending fear throughout George's body. He leaned over George menacingly, all sense or security's leaving the small child.

“Please, Connor.” George's voice was pained as he glanced at his little brother before looking back at his dad.

George watched Kevin's fist curled up as the man's eyes burned with a flaming fury. George hunched his shoulders and got ready to be hit, still looking at Connor, pleading for him to walk away from their father.

“You were a mistake, kid” Kevin growled at George, “you should have never been born.” 

“Hey, hey, hey, it's getting a bit dark.” Mabel hurriedly walked over to the three of them, placing herself in between George and Kevin. “George, take your brother back home, your mother and step-father will be getting worried.” 

Kevin towered over Mabel and burned his eyes into her, the woman just not looking at him. Kevin didn’t move for a minute, but eventually a sigh was released from the man, it sounded almost _sad_.

 _Maybe he does really love me,_ George thought as Connor scuttled over to him, taking George’s hand.

Kevin turned around and stalked off, his large figure disappearing as he weaved in and out of the other people in the village.

“You okay?” Mabel asked George.

“Yeah.” He nodded.

“I had to stop him, I couldn't bare to see him hurt you.” Mabel looked down at George. “Go home, I'll drop some fish by later.” Mabel glanced in the direction Kevin walked off in, making sure he was really gone.

“Thank you.” George muttered, scurrying off with his brother’s hand in his hand.

That sigh, it was negative, definitely. Maybe he missed his family? Did he miss mum? Their relationship was sometimes amazing but other times they argued for hours on end. Does he miss us? Does he miss… me? George's mind was wandering off, all thoughts and possibilities flooding it.

“George,” Connor's voice intruded his thoughts, “mum isn't going to be happy with this.” 

George remembered that their mother said that if they ever saw their father, tell her and she’ll make sure that they never have to look at his face again.

He shut his eyes and let out a sigh of his own.

“No, she won't.”

\-----------------------------------

—-George—-

“Our mum told us that if she ever saw Kevin again, she would shoot him dead and make sure he was buried 6-feet deep. She was determined that he was going to hell and there was no way he was going to escape it.” George looked around at everyone. “He honestly wasn't that bad.” 

“ _He really wasn't that bad._ ” Matthew mocked his voice.” So, beating your children and saying that they _should have never been born_ doesn't make a parent abusive?”

“Okay, I'll rephrase my statement then. He wasn't that bad when I was older, he started giving me the respect that I deserved when I became 15…”

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

George took a step out of the market, swatting some flies away from him. 

“Ughh.” His face scrunched up, a fly landing on his finger.

He squished it, its guts getting caught in between the folds on his fingers. He scrunched his face up again in disgust and wiped it on his trousers, black lines visible.

George continued walking down the street, he was heading back to his mum’s house. It wasn’t a long walk, maybe 5 minutes, maybe 10, he honestly wasn’t too sure. His normal plan of action was to just take shortcuts throughout the multiple alleyways placed in between the cramped villages, shortening his journey dramatically. 

The sun was starting to lower, a wonderful merge of purple, orange and yellow entering the cloudless, clear sky. Night was definitely drawing in quicker tonight, the height of summer crashing down on to California.

George wasn’t a fan of it. He enjoyed the clouds and the rain along with the calming atmosphere that came with it. Not being able to sleep and sweating your balls off because it’s too hot wasn’t George’s favourite past time.

He entered the first set of alleyways, the tall walls now covering his body from the blistering sun. It was relief for George, a small smile appearing on his face.

It always seemed like he never payed attention when walking, his eyes always focusing on other things then people in front of him-

He crashed into someone taller than him, making him take a couple steps back. His eyes shot open, a look of rage growing inside them. Luckily, it left quickly once he saw who he bumped into.

“Oh, hey, dad.” George looked up at him, literally. He may have grown to be 6”3’ but he would never beat his father’s height of 6”10’.

“Hey, kid.” Kevin smiled at George, a drastic change of what would have happened when he was younger. “Going to your mother’s?”

“Yeah.” George nodded his head as he started to try and walk past him again.

“Wait.” George stopped at the sound of the command.

“Mm?” George turned his head round.

“How is she? Your mother.” Kevin asked, a hint of sadness swimming in his blue eyes.

“You miss her,” George slyly smiled, “don’t you?”

Kevin narrowed his eyes but he didn’t deny it, not breaking the eye contact with his son. “ _How is your mother?_ ” He repeated the question.

“She’s fine. She was a bit sick last week but she is better now, definitely happy that her husband really helped and cared for her.” George added the last bit in for the reaction, grinning to himself.

He heard a regretful grunt from Kevin but he shrugged it off, George wanted to let Kevin know that he missed out on a wonderful wife and a wonderful life watching his children grow up.

“Anyway,” George looked ahead of him, “I’ve gotta go.”

“See you then, kid.” Kevin’s voice regained its sternness, George feeling his eyes staring at him.

George walked off, the sound of footsteps walking in the opposite direction of him.

A spark of pride was existent inside of him.

He wanted his dad to feel bad for what he had done but then again, Kevin is his dad, someone who does make mistakes. He wouldn’t wish anything too bad to happen to him and he hoped that Kevin thought the same thing.

Hoped.

\-----------------------------------

\---George---

George slightly laughed after the last bit.

“Anyway, on the subject of being 15,” he turned his head to Jorel again,” that's how old I was when that scene happened which you remembered when you died.”

It took Jorel a second, then the thought re-entered his mind, “Oh yeah…” he muttered. “We were out in that park place, it was you, me, Connor and Molly, it had been snowing.”

“Correct, Terry had told me to take Connor and Molly out and then that’s when we met you, so, we started to mess around in the snow. This was when we got along after a couple of years of hating each other…”

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

Connor ran out into the snow, purposely kicking it back at George with a dark, grey ball clutched in his hands, Molly letting out a squeak of surprise.

George was 15, Connor was 12 and Molly was 8, meaning George was, once again, in charge of the two littles. 

“Oi!” George shouted, laughing at the same time.

Connor ran off and George went after him, tackling him and wrestling him down into the snow.

“OOO SHIT, THATS COLD!” Connor shouted, eyes wide, letting go of the ball.

“Shhh! Molly is here!” George covered Connor’s mouth so he couldn’t swear anymore.

A laugh came out of George after hearing some more muffled swearing, the Irishman quickly standing up to let his brother get up too. Connor was laughing too, now running over to the ball and picking up before it would roll off too far away. Molly sprinted up to her older brothers, looking up at George with her innocent, blue eyes. That was the one thing they all shared in common; they all had their father’s light blue eyes.

“You three having fun?” A voice broke their moment.

George whipped his head round to see who it was.

Jorel.

“We were, in fact.” George brushed the snow off his trousers, slyly smiling and Jorel.

“Don't get any ideas, Miles will kill me if I get anything on this outfit.” He was wearing quite fancy stuff, his hair nicely done and collar uptight against his neck.

 _Shouldn't be wearing that when you come down to this village,_ George thought.

“Come on Jorel! Enjoy life for once, we only have one chance!" George turned around to his brother, raising an eyebrow to Connor and signaling for him to do something which Jorel wouldn’t be too happy with.

“But these clothes are expensive-“Not a snowball, but a ball covered in snow, went flying towards the Italians man's clothes, a scream escaping him followed by Connor’s laughter, Molly giggling as well.

George smirked to himself, watching Jorel wipe of all the snow of his outfit as humanly quick as possible. 

“CONNOR!” Jorel screeched at the 12-year-old, making Molly and George laugh even more. 

Jorel narrowed his eyes at Connor, charging up to the pre-teen, grabbing him by the shoulders and smashing him into the snow below, Molly quickly moving to the side as he did so.

“I'm not leaving you out, Georgie.” Jorel grabbed George's ankle, yanking him down to the ground with the others.

“AH!” George let out a scream, all the wetness of the snow seeping through his jacket to his back.

Molly stood there and continued laughing, eventually coming over and flopping down on to George’s chest so she didn’t have to stand.

They were calm and it was joy to George, not having to think or worry about a care in the world for a good couple of minutes.

And how George could only wish for life to stay like this.

\-----------------------------------

\---George---

“Let's skip forward a couple of years.” George's smile faded off his face.

“As you heard in Jorel's story, I had a son with a lady called Carly. We met in the pub, I got a blow job and then we went to my house and fucked. We started dating and she fell pregnant. Back then, your community would think it was disgusting if a child was conceived and the parents weren't married, so we got married.” George twiddled with his fingers. “I never personally wanted a son, I would have rather had no children until a bit later on. I wanted to live life more and enjoy it, not spend my days moping around as a father, stuck just going to work and doing nothing else.”

“Arthur was such a nice boy, I don't understand how you didn't love him.” Jorel shook his head, disappointed.

“How can you love something you don't want?” George replied, little to no emotion in his voice.

Jorel didn't say anything, his head hung low as he was thinking.

“I tried taking care of him like a real father would, I honestly tried, but I think that the dad I lacked when I was younger was the reason why I didn't _appreciate_ him as much as I should have done. I just left Carly to deal with him most of the time while I went off and done my own thing…”

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

George grabbed his dark brown jacket and put it on. It was a cold, wintery night outside, better be safe than sorry.

He was going to meet his dad in the pub down the road and catch up on how life was treating him recently. Their relationship had become amazingly better. Sure, it was still tense but George was no longer scared of him, respect mainly came from both sides now.

George approached the front door, placing a hand on the front door handle before-

“Where are you going?” A female voice startled him.

He turned his head round to see Carly standing in the door frame behind him, their 11-month-old child in her arms. Arthur was a beautiful child, he had George's blue eyes, dark-blond hair and Carly's rounded face. As beautiful as he was, George just couldn't bring himself to love or take care of him.

“Out.” George bluntly said, looking up from the baby, back to Carly.

“Where?” She questioned, holding Arthur tighter in a protective manner.

“I'm going to meet my dad down the pub.” He let go of the door handle, giving Carly his full attention.

“What about your son? You two have barely bonded since he was born. You’ve just ignored him and treated him like an object which needs to be moved around and dealt with, nothing more than that.” George could tell Carly was starting to get irritated.

“He won't remember these years when he is older,” Memories of his own father leaving him flashed in his mind,” maybe tomorrow.”

“There might not be a tomorrow! How could you not take just one day to fu- “she stopped herself swearing, “- just spend time with him!”

“I'm working most of the time!” George's blood was starting to boil.

“Not on Sundays and it's Sunday today, just spend some time to talk and play with your only son, you ungrateful bastard!” She shouted.

“Later.” George's voice threateningly deepened, his eyes narrowing.

“Now.” Carly remarked as she started cradling Arthur, the child starting to cry.

George's fists curled up, “I'm not going to be spending my time, wasting my time, _bonding_ with a son who will not remember this day nor feel anything towards it. End of discussion.” His voice was starting to show his rage even more.

 _You're becoming dad!_ His younger self screamed at him in his mind, but he ignored it. 

Sadness entered Carly's eyes, holding the child closer as tears started welling out of her own eyes.

“I haven't seen my dad in a couple of months,” George's voice became a lot softer, “I'll see him and when I come back, I'll spend some time with Arthur, okay?”

“Okay,” She sniffed, wiping her eyes.

George turned back round, all feeling of guilt leaving him. He opened up the door and walked out, knowing he wouldn't keep his promise.

Is she really that stupid that she hasn't realised that George would never bond with Arthur?

\-----------------------------------

\---George---

George stretched his arms out and sat up straight. “As I said, that night I met my dad and we had a couple of drinks. We talked about a lot, my childhood, what he done when he left us and his childhood,”

“Was that pleasant?” Jordon asked.

“Mmm?” George raised an eyebrow.

“His childhood, ya know, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.”

“Oh, he told me that his mum was nice-ish but his dad was stricter. I guess Kevin just repeated what his dad done to him.” George shrugged. “On the subject of his parents, he actually mentioned to me that he wanted me to go visit them because, as you know, they are my grandparents after all and I had only met them once, so it was reasonable to do so.” George slightly but bitterly laughed to himself.

“What’s the laugh for?” Matthew questioned. “You only went to visit them, not to be fucking raped and beaten.”

“Can’t keep your fucking mouth shut, can you?” George snarled, the curly-haired man quickly getting on his nerves. “Let me finish my story, I let you finish yours.”

Matthew narrowed his eyes but kept his mouth shut, holding back his anger.

“I went over to Ireland and visited them. I told Carly I needed to go, she asked why and I just came up with some excuse that my grandad was dying so I wanted to say goodbye. She let me go but told me to be quick, she didn’t want me gone for too long without seeing Arthur.” He rolled his eyes. “Well, she got the opposite, I was gone for 4-odd years.” George sounded uninterested.

“Man, I know you don’t believe it but me, Carly, Connor, Molly, Terry and Kevin missed you so much. I was so lonely.” Jorel sighed

“You had your wife.” George argued.

“But I didn’t have my best friend…” Jorel’s eyes shined with sadness.

“I had no choice, I got forced to join the Irish army to go fight in WW1. Luckily, I was given a week to write to family and friends before I would be shipped off to France and writing is what I definitely did…”

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

George sat at the wooden table with 4 pieces of paper out in front of him.

Kevin, Terry, Carly and Jorel.

He didn’t bother writing one for his brother and sister, rather his mother or father would inform them of the bad news. George pulled one of the sheets of paper closer to him, gripping his pen in his large hands.

 _Dear Kevin,_ he wrote,

_I know we didn’t get along when I was younger, but I still love you and you always will be my dad. I’m sorry to tell you but I have been forced to join the army to fight. Next Friday, I will be sent off to France. I know you won’t miss me as much as Terry will but I thought it was still worth writing to you,_

_From George._

George grabbed the next sheet of paper, for mum.

_Dear Terry,_

_I know you love me dearly but I must tell you that I will not be back anytime soon. As you know, a war is going in Europe and I have been forced to go fight. I’m going to make it out alive, I’m sure of it. The war is meant to be over by Christmas so I should be back in time to see you then. I hope you stay healthy while I’m gone and tell Connor and Molly that they better look after you otherwise there will be consequences. I love you so much,_

_Love George._

The next letter was for Carly.

_To Carly,_

_I know you and Arthur will probably miss me but I have no choice to do this. I’ll be home soon; a war is going on and I have to fight. Jorel will be able to give you some updates, I’ll keep on writing to him throughout the couple of months I will be out for,_

_From George._

George picked up the last sheet of paper.

_Dear Jorel,_

_As you know, I was in Ireland to see my grandparents and spend some time with them. I have done that and I had a nice time, but there is a problem. The UK has gone to war with Germany and I was forced to join the Irish army as my family is, well, Irish. I did not decide this, some dickheads did. I’m not sure when I’ll be back or if I will be back. The war is meant to end by Christmas, so I think I’ll be around that time. I’ll try and keep writing to you but we have been informed that the letters will take a couple of weeks or even months to get and receive. I’m sorry, Jorel._

_George._

He signed it off.

A sigh was released from him as he collected the papers and straightened them up.

Maybe he might not be present for the next Christmas.

\-----------------------------------

\---George---

“So, this is where the _fun_ part begins.” George clapped his hands together. “But before we get on to that, I must say that I missed everyone so badly. I felt so dead without Jorel at my side, it was agonising. I was so scared that I would never see you again. It was upsetting me that much that I expressed my concerns about not coming back alive to my grandfather. In return, he gave me his father’s wedding ring, telling me that it was lucky and keep me alive, even though his father was shot dead at the age of 29, 8 years after he was born. Funnily enough, he was called George too. My grandfather attached it to my dog tag and told me to keep it on at all times. That ring will pop up later in the story,” he chuckled, “trust me.”

“The ship we traveled on was fucking dreadful. All the proper Irish chaps would make fun of me because I have more of an American accent because, of course, I grew up in America, not in Ireland. I eventually got along with them and they weren’t actually that half bad. I think I spent so much time around them that I became more sarcastic and cocky then I ever was before. Anyway, the conditions were shit. The boat was filled with rats and lice. It wasn’t like we wouldn’t have to be dealing with that for the next 4 years.” He rolled his eyes.

“I started talking to one of the old sailors and we got along well. He reminded me of some of the elders in our village. His name was Max and he was a chavy Englishman. He was around the age of 50 to 60 and he told us some pretty good stories to keep us entertained. It was just me and him one day, chatting and having a laugh. I still remember what we were talking about…”

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

“I think ya’ good, George,” Max laughed, taking a puff from his cigar, “I wouldn’ mind ya’ bein’ my son, any day.”

George smiled.

“Ya’ the one I want to live ‘n I know wot will keep ya’ alive.” The old man took his sailors hat off and plonked it on to George’s head.

“Huh?” George raised an eyebrow.

“Adjust it.” Max crossed his arms and grinned at George.

George pulled it down and made it comfortable around his head.

“That is my lucky ‘at, wear that ‘n you’ll make it out alive.”

“You sure?” George jokingly said with a cheeky grin.

“Yes, yes, yes! This ‘at has sailed aroun’ the world with me, over hundreds of boat rides through storms and this ‘at has kept me safe the ‘ole time!” He proudly boasted. “Wear it every day ‘n it will keep ya safe.”

George laughed, “Alright, I’ll wear it then.”

“Good.” Max’s eyes suddenly darkened with sadness.” May the lord ‘ave mercy on your young, poor, soul.” Max walked back to the main part of the ship and left George to his thoughts.

He would be fine, wouldn’t he?

\-----------------------------------

\---George---

George fixed the hat with a grin.

“Now, let’s go on to the trenches.” George’s eyes clouded over when the memories came rushing back him. “The trenches were low, crowded and filthy. There were endless amounts of rats scuttling around and that was occupied by fucking lice which lived everywhere. It was in our hair, clothes and shoes. It was disgusting.” He shivered as the memory of feeling something wriggle up his back came back to him.

“Damn, I didn’t realise the conditions were that bad.” Jorel muttered.

“What happened there was worse.” George spoke lowly.” When we were placed on the front line, it was mostly calm and nothing much happened. We mainly just sat there, cleaned our guns, refilled sand bags and tried to find as much food as possible but some days… some days…” George started shaking slightly,” it was hell, especially on the 8th of July, 1915, a year into the war…”

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

“George, chuck the biscuits over!” Devin, one of his close trench-friends, shouted at the Irishman.

“No need to shout.” He threw it over, the dark-haired man catching it and tearing the packet open.

George huffed in boredom, well, it wasn’t like they wanted anything to happen. 

“I’m gonna grab my gun and clean it.” He announced to everyone. 

George stood up straight before immediately crouching down to avoid being shot. He went over, his trouser legs getting all dirty and muddy. 

“Ugh,” His face screwed up, a louse crawling out the barrel of his gun. George picked the gun up and squatted comfortably, taking the gun apart to get rid of the rest of the lice inside. “Disgusting,” George muttered as he shook the barrel, a few more lice scuttling out. He stomped them dead, a couple wriggling away.

He scratched his curly, growing hair. _I really need a haircut-_

“MAN OVER! MAN OVER” Screeches smacked George straight in the ears.

He quickly turned his head around to see a German jumping down into their section of the trenches, gun cocked and loaded. George turned his attention back to his gun as he frantically tried to put it back together.

He wasn’t quick enough.

A scream filled the air and George whipped his head back around with wide, blue, eyes.

The soldier who was shot looked beyond scared, he was _paralysed_. Blood squirted out of his chest, spraying the ground, fucking staining the ground. The bullet had torn through his chest, through his clothes, through his flesh and had landed straight into his lungs. He was thrashing about on the ground, gasping for air as he stared at George, quickly taking his last breaths. His body was fully stretched out, convulsing viciously before he suddenly relaxed and went limp, his eyes rolling into his skull.

George was stuck to the spot, his whole body shaking.

Two more gunshots rung throughout the trenches, making George stand up in panic, dropping his gun.

In the dust of the trenches, two bodies were lying there, blood spilling from each of them.

George went to reach for his gun again, trying to stick all the parts of it back together, failing miserably. A bullet came tearing from their side caught George by surprise.

 _Devin!_

The bullet hit the German in the leg, making him stop for a second and cry out in pain. Devin pointed his gun and fired again, a look of bravery on his face.

He missed, the bullet just flying past the German.

A gun cocked again and George could do but nothing scream as a bullet went through Devin’s skull, his brains exploding out behind him on the ground. His body fell back like the rest, one of eyes rolling away, picking up all the dust.

A wave of sickness lodged itself up George’s throat, followed by a dark red, unnatural, ferocious rage quickly boiling inside of him.

It was only George and someone else left, and he was fighting like a real solider, unlike George, firing and dodging whatever bullets he could.

What broke George was when he was shot in the arm, letting go of his gun, leaving him completely defenseless in George’s eyes. That’s when all sense of sanity and empathy shattered inside him. The boiling rage inside him bubbled over, he saw nothing more than blood red.

He lunged at the German, smashing his fist directly in the face of the man which sent him flying to the ground. George ripped the gun out of his hands and threw it away from the two fighting men.

The German looked small without that gun, fucking _tiny_. He was weak now; his skinny body could do nothing to George and he couldn't do nowhere close to what George was about to do to him.

“yoU- “His English was broken but understandable and George rudely interrupted him as he threw his large fist into his face again. 

The German tried fighting against the Irishman, kicking, biting and scratching before he screamed at George- “I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU LIKE THE REST OF YOU SCUM, YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT!” He smacked George round the face with ferocity, making him take a step back away from the man.

That’s when he unleashed full hell on the man.

George shook the pain away and leaned back over him, a rage of fists smashing towards the man’s chest. A howl of pain errupted from the man, his small hands pushing against George, trying to stop him as cracks emerged from his rib cage.

He couldn’t stop, he was blinded by his rage.

He wasn’t in control, he _couldn’t_ control himself.

He wanted revenge, he had a lust for blood.

The man’s horrific screams were soon replaced with droplets of blood coming from his mouth, spilling down his face in all directions. The man wasn’t dead, his breaths heavy and growing to an end, but they weren’t gone yet.

George saw the closest thing to him, a sand bag.

He grabbed it, lifted it up in the air and threw it on to the man’s face with all of his might, his blood soaking into the bag’s fabric. The bag smacked the back of the man’s head into the ground, blood also starting to pool from there. He done it again but this time he didn’t let go, he kept pushing the sack down into the man’s face until he heard a large crack, a tingly sense of satisfaction arising in George.

The man’s arms were pushing against him, his legs wildly kicking at George the whole time, not stopping for a minute.  
The short-lived satisfaction swiftly went, anger taking its place. “JUST DIE ALREADY!” George screamed, throwing the bag down onto his face one more time.

He stopped, _it_ stopped, he deserved no title of a human being. His body went limp underneath George, all movement ceasing.

The last breath of the man entered his ears before silence, and that silence was pure ecstasy for George. 

Just. silence.

.

.

.

“George…?” A voice shook George back to reality.

He turned his head round in a panic. Alan, the shot soldier, looked beyond scared, shaking his skin off because of what George had done, because of his vicious attack. Alan had wrapped a cloth around his arm which had soaked up all of his blood from the wound. Fear clouded his eyes, his gun gripped in his trembling hands.

“George… stop.” Tears welled from Alan’s eyes, making George think about what he had done.

He looked back down at the body underneath him. Blood was all over his face, his eyes swelled and his nose was awkwardly crooked. Dirt and mud had clung to the man’s dark hair, his arms and legs sprawled out to the side of him.

“George,” Another voice hit George, making his look up from the body, “Get on the ground and don’t resist.” Two soldiers from another side were standing there, ready to take him away.

George didn’t argue, he got off the man and crawled to the side of him, feeling dead, _numb,_ inside.

What happened had ruined him forever, and there was nothing that would make him forget what happened that horrible, dreadful day.

\-----------------------------------

\---George---

“I was let off duty for a bit. I resided in the village close by the trenches. I was in the hospital for a while but was released when all my physical checkups were done.” George’s voice was stale. “I couldn’t sleep after that. Every night I would wake up, screaming as the nightmares were taking over my mind. That’s all I could think about; how if I reacted quicker I could have saved everyone.” George’s shaking got worse. “How if I didn’t decide to clean my gun, we could of all made it out alive. It was all my fault that they died.” He hung his head low.

“It wasn’t your fault. You did not will that man to get over no-mans-land.” Jorel placed a hand on George’s leg but he pushed him away, shaking his head to wake himself up.

“A lot happened in that village,” George raised his head again and looked at Matthew,” like when I saw you.”

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

George sat further away from his fellow soldiers, all of them playing football. He would have loved to join in with them but after what happened, all life and energy had been drained from him.

A small child suddenly caught his attention, making him become alert. He was trying to climb over the fence, a basket of something in his tiny hands. From what George could see, the child had curly, light blond hair and dark blue eyes, well, that’s what it looked like, he was far away again.

The soldiers stopped playing and started to talk to young boy, ruffling his hair which didn’t please the kid.

 _Hah, I was like that,_ George thought to himself.

The cockiest soldier of the group kneeled down next to the kid and, what it looked like, was tempting him to do something. The kid blushed and laughed before seeing George, staring at him with _shock_.

 _Definitely blue eyes,_ George was reassured.

The kid pointed at him and turned to another soldier, probably asking him _who is that horrible, vicious, mad man up there?_

The soldier kneeling down started talking then done the ‘crazy’ sign.

 _So that’s what they think of me!_ George narrowed his eyes with anger, his arms starting to twitch and shake.

As angry as he was feeling, it left almost instantly, numbness taking over him again. They were right anyway, what’s the point of throwing a hissy fit over the truth?

One of the soldiers took the basket and made his way over to George, the Irish man tensing up very quickly as a drew closer.

“Here.” The man took a small piece of bread out of the basket and gave it to George. George looked at it, his appetite had been lost ever since he saw Devin’s brain coat the floor. “The kid over there, Matthew, bought us some bread. We were trying to get him to teach us ‘fuck you’ in French but he wouldn’t tell us.” He smiled at George but George didn’t return it.

He just sighed.

“Just try and eat it, I know you’re not hungry but give it ago.” The man walked back off to the group, cheering up again soon as the others started talking to him.

The kid grinned before walking off, occasionally turning his head round to look at George, before climbing over the fence again.

 _Fuck, I hate thinking that me and Asia will never be able to have a family,_ George’s eyes darkened with sadness, clutching his hands together as he tried to stop himself shaking and crying.

 ~~Be strong, George,~~ he heard his mother’s voice rung throughout his head.

 _I’ll try, I will really try…_ George tucked his legs under his chin and shut his eyes.

To be strong is all he could wish for.

\-----------------------------------

\---George---

“Who’s Asia?” Jorel asked, eyebrow raised.

“She was a woman who lived in the village who I first met through being in the hospital. She was a young nurse who worked on the ward I was in and she basically took care of me. We flirted when I was in and after I was released. We continued talking and both of us eventually fell in love.” George relaxed, his shoulders no longer tense as they were.

“Aww…” Jordon smiled.

“I wish it really was like that.” He bitterly laughed, again.

“Our love was unbreakable, it was _true_ love but one thing stood in our merry way,” George looked back down at his hands, “She was married.”

“What?” Jorel cocked his head to the side.

“She was married to a man called Tony. She told me that it was an arranged marriage and that she never wanted children with him, but…” George blushed slightly, “she wouldn’t mind me and her having one.” 

He started thinking and smiling to himself. “Sorry, anyway, we got along really well. We used to meet up further up in that field after she finished working. We would walk, talk, laugh and have a bit of fun. She tried to help me when I was panicking over whatever, she really did…”

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

George was trembling, memories flashing throughout his mind.

The blood.

The screams

It was all his faul-

“Hey, George!” Asia called, making her way to the man sitting on the field.

George whipped his head round to look at Asia, tears falling from his eyes.

“Georgie?” She suddenly became concerned, it showing in her voice. “Baby, don’t cry.” She sat down next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He flinched and slightly inched away, his arm tense, the veins pushing against his skin. His fists then clenched up and he shut his eyes tightly, a small hand starting to rub his back.

“I ruined everything.” George then put his head in his hands.

“You didn’t.” The hand was soft and delicate, tracing patterns into his large, broad back. 

“What about when I let 6 people be killed? _Innocent_ people. I let them be attacked and I just stood there, shaking my ass off because I was too much of a pussy. I attacked when it was too late. Lives have been taken and it was my fault. He took their lives so I took his, I’m just as bad as him!” He smashed his head into his hands, trying to hold his tears back.

“You done it to protect people, you didn’t not sink to his level. You didn’t _react late_ , you took your time to find the best time to attack.” Asia pushed her shoulder up against George’s, trying to bring him a sense of security. 

“Well because I _took my time find the best time to attack_ , their families have lost their sons, brothers, fathers and cousins and it is all my fault. I am the reason why they are dead, I should have been quicker, I should of- “

“George,” George lifted his head and looked at Asia, “you tried your best and you fought like a lion to keep everybody else safe in the trenches.” She wiped a tear from Georges cheek.

“But my best wasn’t good enough, was it?” He looked back at the floor, another tear starting to traveling down his face.

“Your best is all anyone could ask for, it’s all _I_ could ask for.” Her hand left his back and moved to his thigh. 

George was shocked when he felt her kiss him on the cheek, instantly looking back at her again. He wiped his tears away, slightly laughing.

She smiled warmly, her cheeks going red.

“Why are you the one blushing? I was the one who was got kissed, silly.” George chuckled, the woman lost for words.

All thought of Carly and Arthur had disappeared from George’s mind, it was only focusing on Asia and her beautiful, brown eyes and her pink, plump lips and her sweet, curved smile. He loved every aspect of her and he would never stop loving her, even when he was dead.

Another tear fell down his face again before she wrapped her arms around George, squeezing him tightly. George returned the hug pulling her up against his chest, her arms readjusting to just be around his torso. He pushed his face into her shoulder, just letting all of his tears out along with all of his emotions.

They stayed there for a good couple of minutes before George had fully calmed down. He fell back and lied down on the grass, Asia still on top of him. His arms tightened around her, intertwining his legs around hers, tangling them.

“Ow,” She jokingly said.

After sometime of being together, Asia had to leave to go back to her husband but this, she would come back with a little, tiny gift.

\-----------------------------------

\---George---

“Soon after that, I was sent back to the trenches to fight. I practically stopped eating, drinking and sleeping. I was so glad to go back to the village, I was so glad to see Asia again. Apart from remembering _what_ happened, all I could think about her. How was she? Was she okay? Did her husband find out of our relationship? I worried every day until I was finally sent back after a month or two of waiting.”

“Did he find out?” Jordon asked.

“Luckily, no but she did have a bit of a problem regarding me and her which would definitely point out that she had been seeing me.”

“What was that then?” Jordon asked.

“Well…”

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

George was sitting on the field, waiting for Asia to come.

He felt… calm. He knew it was only because he was going to see Asia, the woman he loved ever so dearly.

Sure, he was becoming slightly obsessed with her, the woman on his thoughts daily, but she was the only thing he had left in this fucking hell hole. He had lost everything now from his closest friend to a wonderful relationship which he could never have no matter how much he wanted it.

“George…” She called his name but her voice sounded concerned straight away.

He looked round and put his hand out for her to hold. She took his hand and sat across from him, taking his other hand too. The size difference was massive, two of Asia’s fingers probably matching just one of his. Her hands were definitely more slender and boney while George’s were wide, big and rough.

“We need to talk.” She started to squeeze his hands.

“W-what about?” George became worried, he couldn’t lose anybody else, no, not now. He was so scared that he was already starting to shake.

“When you were out… I found out that,” she took a deep breath and squeezed his hands even tighter, “I’m pregnant, and I’m 100% sure that it is yours.” She looked up at him, fear in her eyes.

George could barely speak. “And there’s no chance…?”

“No.” Asia said firmly, looking away in shame.

“I want to be happy, and I am, but…” Georges voice drifted off.

“I’m married.” She finished his sentence off.

“Yes. What are you going to do?” He asked, sadness growing inside of him.

“I’m just going to say it is his so he’ll be happy and I won’t talk of you, as much as I would love to.” Asia stared down at their hands, looking at her wedding ring on her finger. “When the child is born,” She then glanced down at her stomach, “I’ll bring her to you, I will let you see her before you are sent back to the trenches or back to Ireland.”

“Thank you.” He shut his eyes for a second before looking back up at her. “I promise that I will come back in the future and visit you and the child.”

“What would you like him or her to be named?” She asked.

“Umm... Why are you letting me decide?” He laughed slightly.” I won’t be the one really bringing them up.”

“But you’re still the biological parent.”

“Good point. I don’t really care about a boy’s name,” He thought about Arthur for a second,” But for a girl… Ava. I’ve always liked that name.” He smiled.

“That’s settled then.” She stood up, knowing it was time for her to leave. “If it is a girl, then her name will be Ava, but if it is a boy, I’ll let my Tony decide.” Asia leaned down and kissed him on the head. “See you soon, my true love.”

And just like that, she was gone, leaving George to his thoughts.

He wanted to be a father but there is no chance he will be able to. She was married, simple as that. Her husband would be nowhere close to being happy that she had cheated on him and was impregnated by a soldier.

 _I could kill him, then there will be no problem,_ George’s mind darkened before he shook himself awake.

_I won’t stoop that low, no,_

_Never._

 

\-----------------------------------

\---George---

“I didn’t see her much after that, as you know, I had a war to fight but every time I saw Asia, she just kept getting bigger and bigger.” George stared at his hands, looking at the small scars littered all over them.

“And the bloke never found out?” Jordon asked.

“No,” George smiled,” I did see them out together in the town, he was so happy and she was sooooo guilty.”

“What happened then? You can’t just say that and not tell me.” Jordon crossed his arms.

“In summary,” George relaxed his shoulders, “I was out in the village with some other soldiers and I saw her out with Tony. Tony was dancing around her, excited about something, probably the child. She was heavily pregnant at the time, anybody could tell she was ready to give birth. Asia saw me and looked at me, her eyes filled with guilt. I understood that she was upset that she was lying to her husband but I honestly couldn’t care less.” He laughed. 

“How couldn’t you care? You destroyed their relationship!” Matthew was on the edge of his chair, no longer able to bite his tongue any more.

“I did not do such a thing.” He snarled, his attitude quickly changing.” It was _her_ choice to cheat on him, not mine. I did not pressure her into fucking me and carrying _my_ child. I did not destroy their relationship as he never found out.”

“So, she was never going to tell him?” Matthew tensed up.

“She was going to tell him one day, she told me that. She said that when Ava was fully grown, she would reveal the truth since he can’t fully disown her after he spent years caring for her, loving her and devoting his life to her. It would be difficult to do that.” George tried to calm down, breathing deeply at the same time.

“You care so much about this child, which you even didn’t bring up, yet you can’t love the one that you were meant to care for- “

“will yoU SHUT THE FUCK UP!” George screamed, making everybody become scared. Even the chairman flinched at his loud voice. “I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD, IF YOU DO NOT KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT I WILL BREAK IT, UNDERSTAND?” A fire was burning inside of George’s eyes.

Matthew just nodded, sinking back into his seat.

“Continue, George.” The chairman shook the man from his rage.

“Right, yes.” George composed himself again. “Let’s just go to when I met Ava, my child, for the first time.

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

George jumped over the first line of fences, landing in a patch of soft, long grass. A soft ‘crunch’ came from the grass as his feet pushed down on to it, it parting as he did so.

The sun was shining over France, the rays of light reflecting off each strand of grass. A forest of trees was distance, all casting cooling shadows over the side of the long fields. Flowers had blossomed, a wonderful smell radiating off all the flowers. Each flower was of a bright colour, yellow, white, red, whatever colour you could imagine.

George bent down and picked out a beautiful, brightly, red coloured flower, knowing it would represent love.

 _Asia would like this,_ George stood back up straight and observed it.

The petals were lightly pinched at the edges, the colour reminding him of how much he lusted for Asia, how much he loathed her to be by his side. He placed it in his pocket before continuing his journey to their meeting spot, taking all the scenery in once more.

Brambles enclosed the field, the thin branches winding around the nimble, wooden fence which was starting to chip, small blackberries growing off it. No clouds were sleeping in the sky, only a full, blue sea was to look at when you glanced up. Lots of butterflies were roaming the field, fluttering very close to George. He held his hand out, a small, light blue and black butterfly landing on his finger. The butterfly sat for a second or two before flying off again, back into the direction of where Asia would be waiting.

 _Maybe it’s a sign?_ George wondered, straining his aquamarine eyes to try and look. _Sucks I’m short-sighted._

He approached the next fence, trying to find a suitable place to put his hands so he could jump without tearing his palms apart. George grabbed the top of the fence, pushing against it and launching himself over, landing on the floor with another ‘thud’.

The grass was shorter on this side, a visible path been flattened down by how many times he and other people had gone that way. There was an under-sized pond to the side, long reeds sprouting out around and moss clinging to the side.

In the distance sat a figure with small, relaxed shoulders. Dark, long brown hair was resting on her back. She wasn’t facing George, she probably hadn’t heard him either. It appeared that she was looking down at something in her lap, her arms attending to it.

_Asia_

George started to make his way over to his secret lover, a gripping fear starting to grow in him.

The cool wind swerved around Asia, blowing her hair around along with part of a blanket in her lap. The wind was harsh, making George’s scarf lash about too, but it was refreshing, it carrying the crisp, smell of the nature environed around them.

“You’re here early.” George peacefully expressed as he grew closer to the woman.

“I am.”

“Why are you- “George stopped speaking as he stood behind her, looking down at what was in her lap.

A small, baby was wrapped up in a soft, viridian blanket. She was sleeping with her little, soft, chubby hands poking out at the top of the blanket. Thin, strands of blonde hair were visible on her head, her lips were of a champagne-pink colour, they were rather plump.

“Is that…?” George was still in shock.

“Ava.” Asia nodded her head. “Want to say hello to her and not just loom over me?” She looked straight up at George, a little smirk on her face.

George felt his cheeks go slightly red. He walked around her and sat crossed-legged in front of Asia.

Ava had the same nose as him and the same hair colour he had when he was younger. Her face suddenly scrunched up along with her hands before her eyes shot open. She had the exact same blue eyes as George but they did not have the same look of terror or hatred living inside them.

Tears started welling out of her eyes before she started crying out loud, her face starting to go red.

“Had a nightmare?” Asia picked her up and starting cradling her, trying to calm her down. She wiped a tear away from the babies’ face, Ava instantly grabbing hold of Asia’s finger. “She reminds me of you.” Asia joked, the baby starting to quieten down almost instantly.

“Hah,” George smiled, not able to tear his eyes away from _his_ child.

“Would you like to hold her?” Asia asked, looking up at George.

“S-sure.” He was nervous, he didn’t want to hurt her.

George put his hands out as she placed the child in them, keeping a distance between him and Ava. George knew what he could do, he knew the power pulsing throughout his muscles, he knew he could kill, he’d done it already. The vicious murder would haunt him, his impulsiveness made him unsafe, it made him _kill._ What if he lashed out? What if he crushed her ribs like he done with _him_? What if he ringed her neck? What if he snapped her spine? Ava doesn’t deserve to be anywhere close to a father who killed without mercy-

“George.” Asia broke his thoughts, “Don’t think about it, you won’t in anyway hurt her.” A sadness was present in Asia’s dark, brown eyes.

George didn’t reply, tears swelling at his own eyes. He looked down and pulled her closer to his chest, the baby slightly stretching in his arms to get comfortable. Ava stared back up at George and let out a small laugh, giving him a cheeky smile. She was trying to reach and get his dog tag which had slipped out from his shirt, giggling at the same time. She hooked her tiny fingers in and out of the golden ring placed there, fascinated by it.

“She’s a month old now.” Asia brushed a bit of Ava’s hair back with her finger, catching the youngling’s attention. “She has so many of your features.”

“What does Tony think?” George cocked his head slightly to the side.

“He absolutely fell in love with her when he first saw her. He cuddles her, plays with her, he really believes that she is his daughter.” She gave George a guilty look again, her eyes filled with shame.

“I’m happy he loves her.” _But I still hate him,_ George absolutely despises Tony. He has the life he could kill for, a life he _would_ kill for. The only thing stopping him was Asia, he was her husband after all and she did somewhat love him.

A burning passion of hate lived inside George, a voice always screaming inside for him to break and attack, destroy, anyone or anything that comes anywhere close to him.

George gingerly tapped Ava’s nose, a laugh coming from the baby instantly. Asia looked down at her watch, a frown growing on her face.

“Is it time?” George asked, not wanting to let go of Ava.

Asia nodded, George reluctantly handing Ava over. Asia adjusted the blanket before standing up, giving George a quick kiss on the lips before walking off, once again, leaving George alone.

She left George lonely, she left him sad, but what could he do about it?

It wasn’t like they could have a relationship anyway.

\-----------------------------------

\---George---

“The war lasted for a couple more months before a treaty was signed and before I knew it, I was back in Ireland, with my grandparents.” George completely untensed as he was getting off the subject of war. “They then got fed up of me not eating, not sleeping and waking up screaming so they gave me a tiny bit of money and then I was back off to America.”

“So back to confront your wife?” Matthew asked.

“Yes.” George actually didn’t get pissed off this time.

“She was really excited to see me, I couldn’t say the same. Arthur had grown, he was now almost 5. He was happy to see me too as he didn’t remember me at all, like I said, I still couldn’t say the same again.” George shrugged. “I tried being the father I should have been but it was hard…”

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

George stared out the window of his and Carly’s house. Outside laid a couple of fields which had been used for farming, all the crops rather reaped, harvested or were rotting away.

 _What a waste,_ George thought, turning around and sitting on the old, shabby couch they had.

A sigh escaped him, his life feeling uncompleted. He had all these emotions eating him, alive, fear, anger, sadness, yet all he could express was nothing. Just pure numbness. He just wanted to snap, he wanted to just lose control, he wanted to be _free,_ he didn’t want to be stuck in this nightmare any longer.

~~Why would you want to be free when you’re with us?~~

Every night… every night it’s the same fucking dream. The bangs, the flashes, the blood, the screams, the rage, the brains, the guts, the gore, the firing of guns and the pure terror. He’d wake up in a sweat, tears pouring down his eyes. Carly would attempt to calm him but the best it would be was a minute-long back rub before she’d tell him to just go to sleep again. He couldn’t, he _can’t_. The dread stopped him. The dread of watching all of them die again, he couldn’t put himself through it.

**Just suck it up, kid.**

George’s head whipped round in panic as he heard footsteps coming down the stairs with the sounds of Carly and Arthur talking, the voices putting his nerves at ease.

“Dad! Dad!” Arthur ran up to George, in his pajamas with a massive grin planted on his face.

“What?” He said more coldly then it was meant to sound.

Arthur cowered down a bit, his shoulders slouching. “I-I just wanted to…”

“Spit it out then.”

“I-I-don’t worry.” Arthur hung his head in shame and started to walk out of the room, George noticing some tears coming from his eyes.

Carly was standing at the doorframe, her eyes narrowing at George, giving him the ‘don’t you fucking dare’ look. George didn’t want to risk arguing tonight, he is getting sick of all the shouting, screaming and physical fighting.

“Wait.” Arthur stopped walking and looked at his dad.” Come back over here.” George motioned him over with his hand as well.

 _You were really being like Kevin then, George,_

George patted the space next to him, Arthur slightly smiling as he hauled himself up there.

“What did you want to say then?” George softened his voice, trying to keep the atmosphere calm.

Arthur started to talk, rambling on to George about some nonsense he frankly didn’t give a shit about nor remember. Carly was gone from the door frame now, probably getting ready to go to bed, or just waiting for George to come up, most likely the second one knowing that whore.

“Isn’t that great!” Arthur caught George’s attention again.

“Oh, yes.” George muttered before he ruffled Arthurs hair, the boy jumping of the sofa before running upstairs to go sleep.

~~Why are you ignoring us?~~

After an hour or two of sitting there, rethinking his life and talking to the voices in his head, George went upstairs to try and sleep.

**Why do you bother, kid?**

He opened his and Carly’s bedroom door open, the woman lying on the bed, awake. George lied down next to her, completely uninterested in her general existence.

“George…”

“Yes?”

“We can’t continue like this.”

“Why not?” George shut his eyes.

“The way you treat me and Arthur, I can’t stand it no longer.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t love him, you don’t love _me_.”

“Of course I do.”

“You don’t sound it.”

“Well, I do.”

“By tomorrow morning, I want you gone.”

“What?”

“I want you out of this house, this family. I no longer welcome you to be anywhere close to me or Arthur.”

George thought about it, his hand clenching itself together in anger.

“Fine.” And just like that, it was gone. 

**She shouldn’t be bossing you around, you’re the man, not her.**

George turned his back to her, Carly said nothing to him after that but he heard her get out of bed, dress and leave the room, quietly shutting the door.

George shut his eyes, this truly being the only time he truly wanted to sleep.

Thoughts lingered in his mind.

This was the final straw for George. All sense of responsibility and love had left him, only pure hatred and apathy swelled inside of his heart, trying to claw its way out of him.

And it eventually won.

\-----------------------------------

\---George---

“I left early in the morning, Carly and Arthur were still sleeping so I just snuck out of the house. My brother had built up a lot of money from his job of house designing. He owned a couple of the houses too and he let me stay in one. We made a deal that he would pay for the first year then I would pay for it the next how-many-years I would live there for.” George fixed his scarf by slinging part of it over his shoulder. “Jorel came and visited me often, that’s really the only reason why I tried to eat, sleep and drink just so I wouldn’t have to see him upset.” George looked at him.

“By drinking you mean alcohol, not water.” Jorel raised an eyebrow.

“Somethings better than nothing.” George shrugged.

“But you drank _a lot._ It was too much.” Jorel’s eyes had a look of concern in them.

George rolled his eyes. “I didn’t really have the money to afford any of it so, I went about selling things. Furniture, _jewelry_ , food, I mean literally anything.”

“Even things people gave you to try and help you.” Jorel added in

“Yeah, I did. My mother gave me some clothes. Sold. My sister gave me some cash. Spent. All my money went towards fueling my alcohol dependency. I would chuck my empty bottle rather at the walls in my house or I’d just leave them on the ground with everything else.” George yawned.

“Did you ever see your dad again?” Jordon asked sweetly.

“Oh, yes, I did. I kind of forgot about him for a minute or two.” He laughed. “Kevin soon asked me if I wanted to go to the pub and have a beer shortly after I came back. I was nervous but I still done it.”

“How’d it go?” Jordon then questioned.

“Well…”

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

George stepped into the pub, many sets of eyes peering at him.

He had gained a reputation of being the ‘mad man’ of the village. They talked about him, he knew they did. The whispered and gossiped about him, 

_‘Did you know the mad man attacked someone?’_

And

 _‘Did you know the mad man killed someone?’_.

George was unsure about how people found out about what happened in the trenches but it sure wasn’t a blessing.

He started walking further in, swearing he could see and hear everyone turning and whispering to each other.

_‘I heard the mad man lives in his own filth!’_

_‘I heard the mad man attacks random people for fun!’_

The voices in his head got louder but he pushed on, quickly seeing the large, wide shoulders of his father.

George approached him, analysing him first. 

A glass of golden-brown whiskey was gripped in his massive hand, scars lining his fingers. His hands had darkened from factory work he had done and his nails were painfully short, dirt lodged underneath them. His glasses looked scratched up, light, aquamarine, blue eyes shining through them. Those eyes weren’t dead like George’s, a spark of life was left inside of them. 

“Going to sit down?” Kevin looked at George, a very small smile planted on his face.

“Oh, yeah.” George sat down next to him, feeling small, feeling _weak_.

“Nice to see you again, kid.” Kevin slid a glass of whiskey along to George.

“Thanks.” George picked it up, staring at the liquid inside the glass.

“Definitely nice to see you with a bit of muscle, actually, a lot of muscle.” He poked him in the bicep, slightly laughing to himself.

“Hah, I feel the same way.” He smiled, shutting his eyes and taking a sip of the strong whiskey.

“Your grandfather sent me a letter.” George’s eyes shot open in terror. “He told me that he gave you his dad’s wedding ring.”

“H-he did.” Georges arms started subtly shaking, his voice weakening.

“Can I see it?” Kevin asked, George moving his hands around to his neck, covering his dog tag.

“I left it at home.” George quickly said, his voice becoming even more quiet with guilt.

“George.” Kevin’s voice become immediately sterner, making George feel like the little child he once was.

“I left it at home.” George repeated, refusing to make eye contact with his dad. 

A large hand yanked George’s dog tag from his shirt, pulling it and George towards Kevin. George pulled back, the dog tag pushing into his neck. He quickly let go, anger flooding his eyes.

“You sold it.” Kevin’s voice had now deepened.

“I didn’t!” George became instantly defensive. 

“You did! Your brother told me you were doing that shit with other things, you fucking low life scum!” The same massive hand came smashing into George’s face, sending the man flying to the floor.

George hit the floor roughly, holding his cheek as the pain throbbed throughout his face, everyone in the bar going dead silent.

All of the eyes were peering at him again. 

_‘Look! The mad man is getting what he deserves!’_

_‘How could the mad man disrespect his family that badly?’_

“You’re a fucking disgrace.” Kevin tore straight into George. “You are worthless piece of shit who should have never been born.”

George felt the tears welling at the corner of his eyes.

“Get out of my sight before I make you, scumbag.” Kevin berated, his fists clenched tightly.

George didn’t move.

“NOW!” 

George stood up in an instant and sprinted for the door, ignoring all the eyes burning into him. He launched the door open before slamming it shut, adrenaline starting to pump throughout his veins.

George instantly slowed down and moped down the street, the tears falling down his face every step he took. He still felt like he was being watched again, the countless eyes scanning him up and down, judging him, _mocking_ him, letting George know that he would never be alone. 

The house he lived in wasn’t that far away, maybe another minute or two of walking and he would be there.

He was going to be trapped, again.

He was never going to be free, was he?

\-----------------------------------

\---George---

“I became even more worse after that. I kept on drinking more and more, I even started stealing alcohol from the bar and from people’s homes too. I was spiraling out of control.” George looked away in shame.

“That’s where you were when I couldn’t find you.” Jorel was piecing some of it together.

“Well,” He laughed, scratching the back of head, “most of the time. As I was drinking so much, I started blacking out. I’d walk into the living room and wake up in my bedroom. This blacking out brought alone fits of rage which I couldn’t control nor remember until I fell asleep. My nightmares were of what happened in the trenches but they turned into what I was doing when I blacked out.” George went silent, his eyes glossing over.

“I was so fucking angry. I needed that feeling of killing, that feeling of _satisfaction_ , back in my life…”

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

George leaned up against the brick wall, the rage boiling inside of him.

He smashed the side of his fists against the alley way, trying to hold everything back, trying to hold everything inside of him.

**Why hold it back? Let it go, kid,**

The hatred was powerful, it was eating him alive. It was driving him fucking mad. Every day, every night, he felt like was losing his mind, the constant feeling of being watched and the voices were quickly pushing him over the edge.

“See you later!” A female’s voice struck his ears along with light steps growing closer to him.

**Get her.**

An unholy idea swarmed inside of his brain, leaving no room for any other thoughts. He stalked into the shadows, hiding and waiting for his prey to near.

The woman walked into his sight. She was wearing a long, white, frilly dress with a similar snow-white hat clutched in her delicate hands. She had chestnut eyes with brindle, wavy hair and ghostly, pale white skin. Jewelry was hanging from all corners of her, 7 rings on her fingers, a long, gem necklace wrapped around her neck along with a shiny, golden bracelet  
clung to her wrist.

More ideas popped into his mind, seeing his large potential for lots of money, more booze for him.

**Now!**

As she walked past George, he launched himself at her. She let out a blood-curling scream. He pushed her down to the ground, slamming her arms against the cold ground. She tried to flail her arms but there was no way she was going to be free, no chance. 

“Please! Don’t hurt me!” She started crying, tears rolling down the side of her face.

_Ignore her, George._

George didn’t say anything, his hands tightly gripped in frustration, his mind going wild of what he was going to do. He slid his hand up to her wrists, quickly letting go of one before grabbing both of her wrists in one hand, leaving him with a free arm.

“Take my body!” She tried to compromise with him, “Just don’t take my life!” The woman shut her eyes, trying to prepare herself to whatever was going to happen to her.

“Why would I want your body?” His voice was deep and scratchy, “You fucking slut.”

George realised how mad he must have looked. Deep bags under his eyes, the lines on his face more prominent then ever, eyes wide like he was savage, barbaric animal and his clothes ruffled and uncleaned. 

He grabbed the front of her face, the woman immediately trying to bite his palm, before lifting her head up and smashing it down into the ground.

She let out another scream, her eyes shooting open. She resisted again, using all of her strength to push against his hands, half succeeding. George’s muscled tensed as he pushed down harder, the small stones on the ground imbedding into wrists. Her elbows scraped across the ground, blood started to well from the scratches.

He smashed her head into the ground again, listening to the large ‘thuds’ every time her head would impact the uneven, rough concrete.

Impulsion moved his hands swiftly to her neck, pressing down on it with a great strength, his brain imagining it was that fucking, lowlife, piece of shit German soldier.

She started choking, her breaths becoming shorter and deeper by the second, her beautiful, chocolate-brown eyes starting to roll deep into her skull. A somewhat rational thought sparked in his mind and he let go, his large handprints painted and bruised into her thin neck.

She took in a large breath of air, her nails scraping across the ground beneath her. Her eyes drifted up to look at George again, pure terror chipping them. She didn’t dear speak, she couldn’t, her throat throbbing with pain.

George reached into his pocket, the lady gathering her breaths. He then pulled out a small, sharp pocket knife, unclipping it in the process.

“Wai-Wait.” She spluttered, her chest rapidly moving up and down, a moving target for George, the rage clouding his vision even more.

_Do it for me, George._

He lifted the blade above his head, pointing it towards her chest. She started fighting and resisting again, trying to kick, punch, scratch George at any possible moment she could, fueling the rage inside of him even more.

George swung the knife down, it ripping through her dress, sinking into her soft, tender skin. She let out a painful scream, her body freezing and locking up, her muscles tensing. The sound of ripping flesh felt graceful to him, seeing the blood leak from the wound and stain her white dress red sent waves of excitement tingling throughout his body.

_Again, George._

He pulled it out and sunk the blade into her chest again, higher up from where he attacked last, edging towards her neck. The skin was tougher to break through, the blade only hitting bone every time he tried to thrust it in deeper. He removed it and moved an inch up, the blade sinking in like butter this time. A squelching noise escaped her throat as blood welled at the sides of the knife. Blood started to drip out of her mouth, it dribbling down her chin.

Her breaths were deep and heavy and with everyone she took, they kept growing shorter and shorter.

George narrowed his eyes with disappointment, the satisfaction disappearing like throwing a lit match on spilt gasoline, the initial fun was now gone. The rage built back up in a matter of seconds again, making him feel physically sick.

He lifted the knife up again, plummeting it down into her neck, blood splattering him. He kept crashing the knife down into her, the pleasure not coming back one bit. The feeling inside of him had left, he was just doing a senseless action now for the sake of making sure she was dead.

George stood up and loomed over her body, his eyes dark.

He clipped the knife back and shoved it in his pocket. The jacket he was wearing was bloodied, it drenched in the liquid. He stripped it off, folding it up neatly and placing it by the woman’s expired body.

 _Oh yeah, the jewelry,_ he yanked every piece he could off of her body, ramming it into his trouser pockets.

George gave her one last glance, no emotion except fury living inside of his cold, dead heart.

Her body was awkwardly slumped, blood spilling on to the floor. Her eyes were wide but her pupils weirdly not dilated. She was looking at George, mocking him, _judging_ him, telling him that he will never win this fight to be free.

George turned his back to her and walked away, his shoulders highly tense. It was only a five-minute walk back home, short but was enough time for George to somewhat calm down. The rage was still burning him alive, eating whatever sanity was left yet he just somehow swallowed it, encaging it deep into his heart.

He opened up his front door, a sigh starting to build up inside of him. George wanted nothing more than too just sit down and relax for five minutes.

George looked at the walls, fists marks punched into them. Blood was speckled inside the hole, making George look at his bloodied and scabby knuckles.

 _Must of ripped open again,_ dried blood was sitting around them, a tad of fresh blood still lying there.

He walked into the living room, seeing Jorel standing there like he was lost lamb.

"What are you doing here?" George growled, just wanting this night to himself. 

Jorel turned around and looked half relieved. “I just came around to check on you and you weren't here." 

George released that sigh he was building up and crossed his arms, his eyes naturally showing his favourite emotion – anger. Jorel’s eyes scanned him up and down, specifically looking at his knuckles.

"Don't fucking ask." He curled his fists even more up in frustration.

 _Why does he treat me like a fucking child?_ George narrowed his eyes.

"I wasn't going to." Jorel replied, still analysing him. His eyes drifted from his face to his pocket, obviously seeing the outline of the flip knife, a look of concern entering him.

"Stop fucking looking at me like I've just _killed_ someone." George became defensive, a frown appearing on his face as he thought about what happened couple minutes earlier.

"Did you..." Jorel's voice drifted off, a look on his face which told him that he was placing everything together.

 _He can’t!_ George became worried.

"What? Why would I do that! Maybe you’re being the paranoid one here, not me." George scoffed.

"You're not denying it." Jorel backed up against the wall, starting to shake.

"I'm not confirming it either. Why the fuck would I do that? Shit like that is sadistic!" George vindicated himself, using all of his will power not to spill his secret. "Seriously, Jorel.” George took a breather,” I haven't done shit." 

Jorel let out a shaky sigh, refusing to make eye contact or even look at George. 

"I should go." The Italian man rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment before walking past George, heading for the door.

"You should." George kept a straight face while watching him leave.

As the door shut, he sprinted over to the closest window to see what he was doing. Jorel was staring at one of the many ‘missing person’ posters. He looked ill, his arms trembling and his posture now slouched. George knew who it was.

Arthur.

How could he be such a despicable father?

What merciless father would attack their own son?

At least he had the courtesy to let him live.

\-----------------------------------

\---George--- 

“You really attacked your son?” Jorel asked.

“I did but something inside of me let him go. I only gave him a black eye and a couple of missing teeth, they’d eventually grow back.” George shrugged.

“I have a question too.” Jordon raised his hand.

“Yes?” George asked.

“What about the bites, scratches and whatever else on your arms?” Jordon cocked his head to the side, lowering his hand back to his lap.

“That came from different people that tried defending their selves.” George shut his eyes and relaxed slightly. 

“Did you attack anyone else?” Danny meekly submitted.

“Lots of other people, I don’t remember all of them though.”

“Did you sell the jewelry?” Dylan questioned.

“Well, of course.” George grinned. “God, is this question time with George?” He joked.

“Let’s get back on track.” The chairman gathered everyone’s attention, looking straight into George.

“Right, lets skip again a couple months later to when Jorel came to me with his dilemma. If you don’t remember, Jorel needed to get a job done in less than 2 days because he was holding it off. It was a package he needed to deliver up north. I stole a car and off we went on a long drive. He fell asleep for some good couple hours before I woke him up. We of course were walking through the forest and, well, the rest is history…”

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

"Jorel.... Jorel.......... Jorel!" George shook Jorel’s shoulder, fear clenching his stomach.

"Yeah?" The Italian man stretched, keeping his eyes shut.

"I now have a dilemma." George gulped.

"What is it..." His voice was filled with pure tiredness.

"I've run out of gas."

"What?" Jorel's eyes shot open as he sat up straight. He stared out the window, his eyes shooting around the place, him quickly relaxing.

"This is where my cabin is." He muttered, calming down. "Let's just get up, walk to it, rest and talk about it in the morning."

"Fine with me." George shrugged, pushing open the car door and getting out.

George gazed out into the forest, swearing he could see something moving around in there. He started fiddling with his fingers, ripping his nails apart. His leg was starting to twitch unconsciously, George looking down at it when he noticed it. The muscles in his arms were tensing then untensing, repeating in a constant cycle, making them shake too. 

**You’re not alone, you’ll never be,** the deep voice rung throughout his head.

Jorel glanced at George before climbing the timber fence into the forest and started walking. George quickly caught up with him, staying close by his side.

He knew if he walked too far ahead or an inch back then they would take him and kill him, they would do what he done to all those poor people that he had killed to him.

Jorel was casually looking around while George was frantically looking around. They walked for a good 20 minutes, Jorel leading the way.

They soon found the cabin, Jorel walking straight for the door.  
He opened the place up, dust attacking them. Jorel let out a husky cough before entering, George not too far behind.

Jorel had a quick look around, making sure everything is still in check. "Well, good news is that we are here. Bad news, there's only one bed." Jorel twisted his head round to look at George.

"I'll sleep on the couch." George stared at it, dust coating it like a blanket covering a newborn baby.

"You sure? There might be spiders." Jorel warned, raising an eyebrow.

"I've dealt with things worse than spiders, I should be fine." Memories flashed through his mind of all the rats and lice living and breeding in the trenches.

"That's good." Jorel gave him a smile.

Jorel stretched again before walking off to the bathroom, closing the door.

A sigh escaped him, his legs taking him over to the window. He looked out into the forest, the tall, thick trunks going on for miles. The twigs were intertwining, dead leaves flying off of them. The trees blocked all light entering the forest, dark figures dancing and winding their ways through the trees, taunting George. He watched them, their short, slender, sickly-thin bodies disgusting him, making him feel sick to the core.

They looked like _him_ , the one who ruined everything for George.

“You think you’re going to win?” George flinched, “You really think you’re going to be free?” _It’s_ voice whispered in his ear.

George grabbed hold of the window frame, the rage bubbling, boiling over inside of him at the sound of that voice.

“Mad, are we?” It even felt like he could feel the hot breaths on his skin again.

A vision flashed through his mind, making him clutch his head in both hands.

Devin... the blood... the brains… the hatred… all the fallen soldiers…

The pictures vividly flashed through his mind, every sense of what happened scraping its sharp claws across his body, all the sounds- screaming, gunshots, - deafening him. He wanted it to stop, he wanted to stop the feeling, he wanted to stop chaos, he wanted the sounds to stop, he just wanted everything to stop.

George scraped his nails across the frame, splinters pushing into his rough skin, lines now indented into the damp wood. He then clamped his hands down on to the frame, ripping up pieces of dead wood.

"George." The voice blared in his ears.

His head snapped round to look at see where the voice was coming from.

A figure was standing there, those brown eyes boring into him. He was wearing the German army uniform without all the heavy armour and machinery.

"You." George snarled, standing up straight and tensing his muscles, making himself look larger.

A murmur entered his ears but it was unrecognizable, the man’s mouth moving along with the empty noise.

"You." Georges breath deepened, his heart burning along with his anger. "why the fUCK DID YOU-" He threw his fists towards the window, it sending the glass flying into millions of pieces, the shards sprinkling everywhere. 

The German took a step back. "Please, George, you're scaring me...." The man weirdly said but it didn’t strike George.

"Good! You deserve to be fucking scared after what you did!" George turned around and bared his teeth.

"George... I've done nothing to you..." He pleaded, tears falling from the man’s face.

"Oh really? So fucking killing all my fucking friends means nothing to you!" A pang of weirdness entered him but he pushed it back, ignoring it in the depths of his heart. "I'll kill you again, worse then what I did last time. I'll do you a favour and fucking tear your eyes out now so you don't have to see what I'm going to do to you." The arousement of satisfaction sat inside of him, it growing bigger and bigger. The larger it got, the more his sympathy left him.

Another muffle broke the silence but he couldn’t hear it, so he stayed quiet. Only the sounds of heavy breathing and the whining emitting from the German soldier was what filled the air.

Georges patience was running dangerously low, the snapping point being when the man made a runner for the door, wasting his time and effort in Georges case.

He lunged at him before he even made it close, grabbing two, large fist-fulls of his army uniform before throwing him to the ground with all of his might, smashing him face first down into the wood below them.

The man let out a pitiful scream, thrashing and uncontrollably kicking his legs about, smacking George deep in the stomach. His breath was reaped from him for a second, a low grunt letting out all of the last bits of air inside of him. He reversed back, holding his stomach and squinting his eyes as the pain violently pulsed inside of him.

The man sprinted towards the door again, trying to make an escape. The wrath quickly covered the pain flowing through him, it covering his judgment in a matter of milliseconds.

His fist went flying towards the man, the man in response jumping to the side, eyes wide with fear. Blood was lightly dripping from his nose, it looking like he wasn’t going to give up too quickly. George swung again, his fists colliding straight into the German’s nose, the man sent soaring to the ground again.

He landed with a loud, painful ‘thud’, his body sliding across the wooden ground.

George leaned over him, feeling like the giant beast that he was. He yanked the man’s collar and lifted him up by it, his body hanging like a ragdoll. He twisted his neck slightly, grabbing the back of his collar before ramming his face into the bulky timber which was supporting the house. The action was repeated over and over again, the cracking and heavy breathing sending bolts of excitement through George.

Then it left, it was just another fucking senseless action.

He smashed his face in one more time before dropping his body, letting it slump on to the floor.

Georges eyes stared at the body. His clothes were bloodied and ripped, his brown eyes swelling and bruising up, a large gash present above them. The man was coughing up blood, the droplets splattering out in front him. It was mixed with his salvia, creating a weird clot of stringy, thick blood.

George rushed into the kitchen, trying to get that feeling back as quickly as possible. He rummaged through the cupboards, throwing plates and cutlery on to the floor, creating loud crashes and bangs.

"where tHE FUCK IS IT!" George screamed, throwing everything on to the ground. "There you are."

He picked up the large, sharped edged axe. George watched the light reflect off the blade, seeing his own reflection in it. He looked like a lunatic but George had no time to focus on that, he had a job to finish off.

When George looked in, the man was by the front door, grabbing the handle and shaking it, trying to pry it open.

He bored his eyes into the man, the German freezing in what he guessed- fear. George stalked over to him, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder before spinning him round to face George, the axe gripped tightly in his spare one. The man looked aghast, realizing this was the end.

George swung the axe above him, aiming directly into the man’s neck. It cuts through layers of flesh, a large rip emitting into the silent night air. Blood sprayed across George and the door, the man letting out a weak, muffled cry as it destroyed his wind pipe, exposing it to the outside world.

George watched his body fall to the floor, convulsing and fighting as he tried to continue breathing. All sorts of fluids were being released, blood, spit, snot, piss, anything the man’s body could.

"George...?" A weak voice came from the body, George’s illusion suddenly melting away.

The face molded into Jorel’s, the eyes not changing. The clothes changed to Jorel’s fancy clothing he was wearing before but it was ripped and bloodied now.

“Jorel…?” George’s body went into a state of panic as he realised who he really attacked, who he really _killed_. “Jorel!” He grabbed his shoulders as he shook him, trying to keep him conscious. Jorel’s body relaxed in his arms, his last breath long and shaky.

“Jorel….” Tears started falling down his face. “Jorel, please, get up…” Silence came from the man, his body now still and cold as stone. 

George rested his head on Jorel’s chest, squinting his eyes shut, letting his tears drip on to the mans blood-soaked shirt. 

He couldn’t lose him. He couldn’t! This man pushed and helped him through thick and thin. He was a lifelong friend, he did not deserve this brutal and barbaric death.

“JOREL!” He screamed, lifting his head up and smacking his body against the bloody ground.

George looked down at the mess of his friend, the mess he had made. More tears came flooding out of his eyes, all of them rolling off of his chin on to the Italian’s dead, lifeless body.

“I’m sorry.” George gripped the side of his shirt in his bloodied hands. “I am so sorry…”

\-----------------------------------

\---George--- 

He was feeling sick now, pure shame weighing his shoulders down.

“I was so fucking upset. The whole night I spend with the body, I even slept next to it. I didn’t want to let you go, I never meant for that to happen.” George looked up at Jorel, tears welling at his eyes.

Jorel couldn’t complain this time, he finally got true emotion out of George, just what he wanted.

“I vowed to myself that I would never succumb to that darkness again, that I would never let my anger take control of me again, I would never let my anger lead my actions. I ran, I ran as far as I could. I didn’t know where I was running to, I was lost, stranded in the middle of an endless forest.” George fiddled with his fingers, staring at the ground.

“What else happened?” Jorel was desperate to know.

A small sigh came from George, “I wandered around for days. I had nothing fresh to drink, small streams and rainfall was my only path to living. It took a good week or two till I fully lost my mind. I was hearing whispers of the dead in the wind. I kept hearing Jorel’s voice, my mother’s voice and my father’s voice, well, I was hearing them anyway but it got worse. They clouded my brain, scaring me into not drinking, into not even eating. My appetite was ravenous, I would actually try and eat anything I could.”

“Any hallucinations?” Jorel pestered him.

“Mm,” George nodded, “they got in the way, physically and mentally, they forced me to walk through brambles and thorns, tearing my legs apart.” George glanced back up at everything, the tears now gone from his eyes. “They, again, had all the voices of Jorel, mum and dad. I would talk to them, they would talk back.”

“Were they negative?” Jorel cocked his head to the side.

George nodded. “They were very discouraging. I tried ignoring them but I eventually gave into their words…”

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

 **You fucktard, why are you even trying anymore, kid?** His father’s deep and rusty voice whispered into his ear. **Haven’t you realised that your time is up?**

 ~~Listen to him for once, George,~~ his mother’s sweet, calm voice murmured to him.

George shook the voices away and continued walking through the forest, his throat and tongue dry as the Sahara Desert. It felt like hell was burning inside of him, his body oddly warm. 

_Come on, George,_ he felt Jorel’s hand on his back, _just give up already. Kill yourself so we can finally be together,_ the feeling of the hand quickly disappeared. 

George let out a sigh. As much as he wanted to and as much as he would love to, he just couldn’t bring himself to it. He was a pussy, simple as that, his inner voice always telling that there might be a way out of this.

Might.

He rubbed his eyes, tiredness taking over his mind. George didn’t remember the last time he actually slept, it would have been before he left for the war but even then, he always has had sleeping problems. Along with the sleepiness, only guilt filled his mind, mainly because of the voices. Every day, every night, they torment him, reminding him of what he has done to people, what he had done to Jorel. They just wouldn’t be quiet.

It wasn’t like George didn’t feel bad, he felt fucking terrible. The nightmares scared him; the blood, guts and gore terrified him, yet he somehow, he was able to commit crimes worse, completely disemboweling someone in one of the many attack.

 _Georgie, do it, for me,_ Jorel’s voice tempted him again.

“Im sorry, Jorel.” George stopped walking and shut his eyes. “I just can’t, not yet.”

_Why?_

“Because… I just don’t want to, I want see if I can- “

 **You won’t! What don’t you understand, you dumb piece of shit!** His father’s voice piped into the conversation.

_Please, George!_

~~Just listen for once!~~

**Do it!**

~~Please, George!~~

_George-_

“shUT THE FUCK UP!” George screamed, all the voices going quiet.

He placed his head in his hands and started crying his heart out, sobbing out loud. The tears were running down his cheeks, the palm of his hands soaking wet.

 ~~George…~~ Terry’s peaceful voice muttered, trying to calm him down.

“NO!” He screeched, falling down to his knees. “JUST-JUST-“ The anger swelled up inside of him,”-just go away…” Another painful sob was released from him.

All the peering eyes staring at him suddenly disappeared, leaving George alone for once. George continued crying, just letting all of his emotions flood out on to the cold, dark, muddy ground. It felt nice to be alone, to be alone with his emotions, no screaming, no mentioning of all the bad things.

He just wanted some time to himself, for more than an hour at least.

\-----------------------------------

\---George---

“That happened often, I was just a real emotional mess.” George crossed his arms. “It was raining horribly basically every day and that should have meant I had a bit of clean water. I’ll just tell you now that I had nothing to catch it in so I was simply and royally fucked.” 

“Why didn’t you just keep your mouth open to catch the rain?” Jordon asked innocently.

“I did at first but I came so tired and depressed that I gave up. I just let myself deteriorate in the forest to be honest. I remember the night I died, it actually felt like that I was really deteriorating at that time…”

\-----------------------------------

\---Flashback---

Rain splattered down on to the tree leaves, it dripping on to George’s undernourished body. The massive, tall, stretching branches mostly sheltered him, protecting him from the icy droplets. He took a step forward, the mud squelching underneath him, one of his feet sinking deep into it. He pulled his foot out, the mud slipping into his shoe.

George couldn’t care less, his natural drive to find food was going wild. His stomach was shriveling up, the hunger pounding throughout his weak, nimble, body.

 _Enjoy the pain, let me have my vengeance,_ Jorel’s voice came from somewhere.

The urge of sitting down was prominent inside of him, the feeling of collapsing hitting him around the face every 12 seconds, making him sway side to side. George leaned up against a tree trunk, holding his hands together tightly. His grip quickly loosened though, his brain blacking out for a second but a light brought him back, his eyes fighting to stay open.

 **Give up, kid,** his father’s deep voice rang throughout the forest.

George tried to keep himself distracted, watching the rain drizzling down a broken branch. It looked rather beautiful, each droplet showing the dark umber lying underneath it. The obsidian black covering his vision at an alarmingly fast ace was even more pretty to look at.

He fell face first on to the floor, his body sprawled out awkwardly, his weight squishing all the mud out beside him while painting his cheeks dark brown.

George wasn’t responding, well, it wasn’t like anybody tried to wake him up anyway. Nobody was here, he was alone with his demons, tormenting him about what he’s done. He was a guilty man -all the murders, beatings- nothing could ever redeem his god-forsaken soul, he was sure of it.

George’s eyes fluttered open, a pang of hunger striking him instantly. He let out a groan, turning on to his side before realising he was sleeping in mud. Again, the care inside of him did not exist, the man just pushing himself further in.

The darkness was still lingering in his vision, his brain burning his muscles away to fight for his life. 

He had no energy running in his body, all will to sit up and stretch was nonexistent. His breaths were large, trying to take in all the air in he could. His body didn’t move from when he woke up, his arms still plastered to the ground. George’s body was screaming at him to eat, it feeling like claws were ripping him open from the inside.

The voices inside of his head were telling him he deserved it, he _knew_ he deserved it, he didn’t need his dad to tell him twice. George had killed his closest and most caring friend he had ever had, how did he not deserve this suffering? What he was doing was nowhere as bad as what he done to Jorel, nothing could replace the pain he caused the Italian.

 **You’re fucking disgusting, George,** Kevin’s voice hit George’s inadequate ears.

“I know I am.” George shut his eyes as he muttered, his hand twitching slightly.

He could no longer fight it, this was the end for him. 

Pains rippled throughout his body, his stomach finally giving up on him. It was like electricity, the pains starting from his head and ending up to his toes. The inside of his chest hurt the most, his heart thumping wildly, smashing against his ribcage. He was breaking out in sweat as well, his body feeling even more wet then before.

A shiver went flying down his spine, his eyes shutting themselves with force as the pain traveled from his chest to his arms. They flinched and tensed, stuck that way. His fingers were stretched apart and curled, an aching feeling arriving from each one of them

He rolled on to his back again and tried sitting up, opening his eyes.

 _They_ were standing in front of him, their tall, lanky, black figures looming over the Irishman, their hollow eyes watching him. A snarl and multiple growls were released by beasts, all of them starting to walk in circles around George.

“Ow…” He hissed a small moan of pain as he clutched his chest, still keeping his eyes open.

The demons suddenly stopped and whipped their heads around to look behind them, George not being able to see what they were looking at. A bright light was radiating behind them, another flash of pain traveling through George’s body at the same time.

He leaned his back against the tree, his breaths even more heavier and deeper.

The demons suddenly and swiftly melted away with a loud, deafening scream, everything going white in George’s poor vision, blinding him. He squinted his eyes shut immediately, tugging his body tighter. 

“George…” Jorel’s voice echoed throughout the… _place_ he was in.

George still didn’t open his eyes, his chest still pounding with pain. He pulled on the side of his shirt, trying to make all the hurt go away.

“George…” His voice repeated, George’s eyes lightly flickering open.

Jorel was standing over him, his eyes shining bright white. No blood was on him, his clothes repaired and not dirty. A sweet, lovely smile was plastered on his face, his hand outstretched in front of George.

“George, let’s go.” Jorel spoke softly.

“Where?” He heard his voice. It was definitely different from Jorels, George’s was more low and scratchy, rough like his heart.

“Home.” Jorel cocked his head to the side, his hand willing him to take it.

George slowly moved his hand over to Jorel’s, placing it in the Italian man’s hand, both of the men gently holding each other before Jorel quickly disappeared, throwing George back into the raining, muddy, revolting forest. The rain splashed on to George’s cold body, it causing him to shrivel up into a tight ball.

He took the last final punches from him chest before…

.

.

.

Nothing.

He was dead. His body just lying in mud, ready to be covered up and forgotten.

No one would want to look for him, better him dying here, alone, then with people who didn’t like him, with people who didn’t appreciate him. 

He would be a forgotten memory, never to be remembered by anyone except his mum, his dad, Connor, Molly, Asia, Carly and possibly Arthur.

The truth would be that Arthur and Carly would never talk about him again. Molly never told her children about her eldest brother and Connor would do the same. Kevin died 2 years after George was reported missing from his lungs collapsing due to the inhalation of smoke while he was working. His mum died at the age of 59, severely depressed after her first son was never found causing her to kill herself eventually, not being able to carry the guilt of her being a ‘bad’ mother.

And George was never found, his body rotted away and his bones left behind.

It was just another lifetime wasted.

\-----------------------------------

\---George---

“I died in 1919 from a heart attack caused by not having enough nutrients and vitamins, so, I did starve to death.” George looked up at the ceiling, the scarf around his neck starting to fall down.

The hostility was gone from everyone now that the truth was out, now that all sides of the stories had been released. 

“Jorel,” George turned around to look at him, “I am so sorry for what happened. I- I just didn’t see you, I saw _him_.”

“It’s okay, I forgive you.” Jorel took his hand again, squeezing it in comfort.

“Don’t worry now,” The chairman grinned, “you won’t remember a thing soon.” 

They all raised an eyebrow, all their eyes watching the chairman.

“Now, let’s get on to the _real_ reason why I called you all here…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did y'all find that? Also, how do y'all like the new names of all the chapters?
> 
> Question of the chapter-
> 
> When is summer break over for you?
> 
> 4th September


	9. This, is your story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray! COTD is finally over! Fun ride for the most part but I did get really bored and unmotivated at times, oh well, hope you've enjoyed this 8 month long story. 3071 words

\---Danny---

“Don’t worry now,” The chairman grinned, “you won’t remember a thing soon.” 

Danny narrowed his eyes in concern, observing the Chairman.

His eyes were still empty, dust collecting in the hollow sockets. A wide, unnatural smile was on his face, his sharp, white, pointed teeth sticking out of the smile. 

Danny shivered at the sight of those teeth, the size of them just freaked him out. 

“Now, let’s get on to the _real_ reason why I called you all here…” He crossed one of his long, skinny legs, the grin still plastered on his face.

From just looking at his leg, it was obvious he was unnaturally tall, maybe 7”5’? Danny was unsure for the most part but what he was bloody sure about was that he was beyond confused about everything that had just gone on.

Matthew was looking at the Chairman like he was mad, eyebrows furrowed and mouth open with shock. He was holding on to the side of the chair, barely sitting on the edge of his seat, thinking the same question everybody else was, _what?_

The Chairman chuckled at the fact that everybody was confused, definitely finding it amusing that he would always know things that they could never wrap their heads around. He clamped his hands together, his eyes scanning everybody up and down.

“None of you will no longer be able to recollect these memories soon. You will not remember this happening nor will you remember your past lives.” The chairman stopped laughing, shutting his eyes.

“What!” Matthew growled. “So, this was just a waste of time?” Matthew narrowed his eyes at him.

“No.” The Chairman opened his eyes and looked at Matthew. “Your souls in this universe will finally be able to rest and disintegrate in peace. If they were to exist on without knowing what happened to them in their original lives, they would come back to torment the new souls I will give you.”

Everyone looked even more confused by the concept.

“I will give you all the fortune of having new souls. New souls so you will not have to remember the torture you have all lived through. You will all have new lives and different stories. The people you have met in your past life will be in your new story but just like you, they will have different souls. They will look the same yet they may act differently, maybe not.” He shrugged his shoulders even though he knew the answers.

“Why are you giving us this ‘fortune’?” Jordon then asked, fiddling with his fingers.

“In each of your lives, something happened which wasn’t planned, something I did not foresee.” The Chairman’s eyes went blindingly white, memories flashing through them before returning back to their normal blankness. “Something that shouldn’t have happened.”

“Like what?” Jordon and Matthew almost said in sync, both looking at each other immediately. 

“Danny, you were never meant to develop your smoking problem.” The Chairman looked at the him. “Dylan, you were never have meant to been pushed to steal. Jordon, you were never meant to have the brain tumours you did. Matthew, your father was meant to return eventually, he would have sent you in the opposite way of the war. Aron, you were never have meant to fall victim to the voices in your head, in fact, you were never meant to have the voices in the first place. Jorel, you should never have been killed so brutally and violently like you were and George, you should have never been forced to fight.” As he spoke, he looked at every person he was talking about.

The Chairman waited for any reactions but to his surprise, none were visibly expressed, only intrigue was displayed.

“You all deserve a second chance, none of you lived your lives to the fullest. I am going to give you that special, second chance. Oh, and don’t worry, I’ve made sure that you do live life how you were meant to.” The Chairman clicked his fingers, a grin appearing on his face again.

Nothing happened for a second until-

Everyone’s outfits suddenly changed, all of them now wearing more modern clothes.

Danny looked down at his outfit. He was wearing dark, navy blue jeans with a black, baggy jumper. He also had light, white and cleaned, gold rimmed shoes. Danny turned his head to look at everybody else with excitement, wanting to know what everybody else had one.

Matthew was wearing a midnight-dark tank top, his slightly-muscular arms exposed along with black jeans paired with it, His arms were definitely filled with more tattoos then before; all of them filled in with dark colours. His hair hadn’t changed at all, the curls wild as ever. He had an eyebrow raised, unsure what to make of the outfit swap.

Aron was wearing a black tank top too. It had 9-lives written on it with a black and white, split up, American flag behind the writing. His dark blue jeans looked baggy even though they were visibly designed to be tight. He was still skinny, like before, but he looked slightly healthier, tattoos also covering his arms. He personally seemed happier with seeing some meat on his limbs, staring at them closely.

Dylan had tight, black jeans wrapped around his long legs with the same, buttoned up Hawaiian shirt except it didn’t have bullet holes in it this time. His hair also looked shorter, the curls less prominent. Again, he had tattoos all over him. There wasn’t really any emotion expressed on his face about the change, his first reaction being to just look at his shoes.

Jordon was wearing a long, plaid t-shirt with the top button undone, revealing his brown chest hair. He was wearing baggy jeans with a black and white cap on his head. He definitely had less tattoos then the rest, the only ones residing on his knuckles and a few on his arms. He also didn’t look sick, life now living in his chubby face.

Jorel had a white t-shirt with a light, jean jacket which seemed to be half-mixed with a hoodie. A black snap-back hat was sitting on his head and he had the same, tight black jeans as everybody else. Tattoos were stained on the side of his neck, his hands and probably more on the rest of his body.

George had a grey beanie on his head and tight, black jeans. He was wearing a camouflage, thin-material hoodie which had ‘OBEY’ written on the front of it. The scarf was gone, revealing a tattoo which was a ‘3’ placed in the middle of his neck. A lot of the small scars from his face and hands were gone, butterfly tattoos flooding them instead.

Everyone was looking down at themselves, shocked at the way they looked. George and Jorel looked the most confused, mainly at the tattoos on their skin. Of course, they would be, tattoos weren’t a done thing when they were alive.

“You will all be born in the same time period, specifically, between 1981-1986. George will be the eldest and Dylan will be the youngest.” The Chairman continued, pleased with the outfit changes.

“So, this is what we will look like?” Jorel asked, looking at his sleeves with narrowed eyes.

“Yes. You won’t be wearing the same outfit every day but this is an example of what you might wear.”

George took the beanie off, not liking the feel of it. He stared at it, Jorel starting to snicker at the Irishman.

“Oh my god, your hair!” Jorel pointed at his head. “It’s so short!”

George felt his hair, his eyes widening. 

“Jesus…” He quickly put the hat back on, slightly embarrassed, Jorel giggling even more.

“All of you may get along, you may not.” The Chairman ignored their banter. “You might meet the same people, you may not. You-”

“Can we ask some questions?” Matthew interrupted.

The Chairman nodded reluctantly. 

“What did my dad do once he had left?” Matthew narrowed his eyes.

“He started doing low-paying work. He met another woman and had a family with her, living his life out without talking about you.” The Chairman’s eyes flashed white.

Matthew didn’t look happy, clenching his tattooed fists. “Did he miss me? Did he fucking care about me?!” He almost shouted.

“He did care, he honestly did. He cared so much that he didn’t want you, your sister or your mother to be hurt if he died so he ran. Shame and guilt took over him once he was in England and not wanting to hurt you even more caused him to never return. He missed everybody and he always would.” The Chairman glanced at everybody else, waiting for the next set of questions.

“If I didn’t die early, was there a chance of me having a family?” Jordon had a hint of sadness in his eyes. It was a dream that he had never expressed to anybody else to have a family and to have children.

“No, you were never meant to have children.” Jordon frowned. “You cared so much more about other people that you didn’t have time for children or to even focus on one person. Actually,” The Chairman put a finger up in the air,” you did have time to care about someone particular.”

“Who?”

“Your wife.” Jordon’s eyes lit up, a warm smile appearing on his face.

“What happened to my wife? And what should have happened, to us if George didn’t happen?” Jorel cocked his head to the side, ignoring George’s cold stare. 

“She lived till the age of 68 and she never remarried. You would never have children but you would raise 3 cats called Lucifer, Valentine and Tiger.” The Chairman’s eyes remained white this time, not changing. “You two would have been happy together, living your lives lavishly and how you wanted too.” 

Jorel sighed, relieved that Vanessa lived a long life and hadn’t married anyone else.

“Was I ever meant to have a lover? I never got a chance to with all the… _work_ I was doing.” Dylan’s voice piped up.

“Yes. You two never got married but you two were certainly in love. In fact, you were so deep in love, she fell pregnant and you became a lucky father to a wonderful, little girl.” He nodded.

Dylan weakly covered his mouth a slightly laughed. He was happy and filled with glee, a warm feeling starting to float inside of him.

“Why did I have voices in my head?” Aron blurted out.

“The Author got bored of writing.” Aron raised an eyebrow. “I’m joking.” The Chairman said in a half-sarcastic way. “Your brain wanted to release the feelings which you couldn’t express. George’s voice was what you really felt while Jorel’s voice was what you wanted to feel. It was a good coping method turned bad.”

Aron nodded, shutting his eyes, feeling and looking calm at the same time.

“Any other questions?” 

“Yes.” George’s voice became stern. “Why did my father… hate me so much?”

“Your grandfather was in the military, making him strict and controlling towards Kevin. Your father also joined the military before you were born, served his time, left, then met Terry. From his childhood to his army time, he turned rude and cynical. He was unable to control his anger and you were the first thing he found that he could get his anger out on and not get into too much trouble. You did nothing wrong and he didn’t hate you, he loved you dearly, just like any other father would. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” The Chairman’s eyes went black again, George was motionless.

George thought about it for a second but eventually gave the Chairman a nod, relaxing in his seat slightly. 

They all looked slightly pleased now, their eyes starting to glow really oddly. It was definitely unnatural, completely confusing Danny. The majority of their eyes were glowing different shades of brown while the others were different shades of blue, ranging from dark to light.

“Danny, what about you?” The Chairman’s voice interrupted his train of thought, 7 pairs of eyes peering towards him.

“Umm…” Danny tried to think, his mind scanning over everything.

What about his parents? What happened to them? 

**You didn’t even thank them after all they had done for you! Disgusting!**

What about his siblings? How are their families?

**You left nieces and nephews without an uncle! Despicable!**

Is the band still alive? Have they shut it down?

**You won’t be remembered, you only wrote a couple of songs! Useless!**

Did they miss him? Was he blamed for his own death?

**It was your fault, you were the one who couldn’t stop smoking! Selfish pig!**

Is Reese okay? How did she get along after he died?

**You left her to raise your daughter by yourself! You’re a dead-beat dad!**

Danny tried shaking the negative thoughts away from his mind, just wanting to find _his_ question and nothing else.

What about-

“Scarlett.” Danny blurted out. “What happened to her?”

“She was very sad. She couldn’t comprehend that you were gone forever and that you would never come back. She ran away from home a couple years later, still scared and confused about your death. She was found and treated for depression. In the end, she managed to have a family of her own and she finally came to terms with your death. She eventually lived a happy life.” The Chairman’s eyes went blank once again, still staring at Danny.

Danny smiled, a peaceful feeling entering his chest, relaxing him, soothing him. Everything was… okay now, nothing was wrong. He knew what he wanted to, he knew how his lovely daughter was.

Suddenly, Danny noticed the corners of his vision starting to blur white, it quickly rushing over the rest his eyes. He pushed against his seat, gripping the arms of it tightly in panic.

“What the- “Confusion took over Danny, making him tense. 

“What the fuck is going on!” Matthew’s voice shouted out from somewhere.

“Get off me!” Jorel screamed.

“No, you fucker! I’m-” George’s voice responded before it was cut off, all of Danny’s hearing fully leaving.

His body went weak, making Danny try to kick his legs around but no movement came from him, his internal worry making him feel sick to the core. It was the feeling he had when he was dying, it was that feeling of losing control, the feeling of…

helplessness.

“This is your chance, don’t spoil it.” The Chairman’s voice became fainter and fainter, Danny feeling like he was floating away from everything and everybody.

A burning pain struck through Danny’s body, his head hurting the most. He gripped his skull, groaning and clenching his hair tightly in his hands. The bright light was making his brain pound even more, it completely blinding him.

Pictures, memories, noises, smells and sights quickly and suddenly flashed around him, ones he didn’t recognise, the sick feeling crawling its way back up his throat again.

It was overwhelming, everything crashing into his brain all at once.

He saw his parents then his siblings then him going to school then graduating then going to college then creating a band then leaving then joining another band then being given a plaque then preforming on stage then being on a tour bus then being around 5 other people then drinking then smoking then seeing his wife then seeing his daughter then sitting on the sofa then being sick then seeing those people again then being in a recording studio then meeting up with old friends then getting into a fight with someone then the five breaking it all up then more fighting and more bickering then… then-!

Nothing.

There was a moments silence, nothing living inside of Danny anymore. 

Everything had left him.

No memories, no guilt, no shame, no happiness and no sadness. There was nothing except that bright light again.

Danny winced, his eyes unable to shut as much as he wanted to close them. No amount of will-power could shut them, nothing.

Everybody was… gone. It was just him.

They had all disintegrated away, nothing left of any of them. The adventurous feeling which came from Matthew was gone, the boldness of Aron was gone, the chillness from Dylan was gone, the warmth in Jordon’s eyes no longer existed, Jorel’s giggles were gone and even the sound of George shouting, he missed it.

It was all lost.

He heard a small chuckle, it was the Chairman’s voice.

 _Guess I’m not alone,_ Danny looked around, trying to find the tall man in this colourless hole.

There was still nothing, only whiteness swimming around him. It was like he was floating in an endless vacuum, never to be seen again.

He didn’t want to be forgotten… he wouldn’t be forgotten!

Tears welled at his eyes, one slowly falling down his red cheeks.

 _No!_ Danny tried fighting again, thrashing his limbs around but to no avail, he was still stuck. He tried again, feeling the energy pumping throughout his body. 

“You can’t deny your destiny.” The deep voice swarmed around him.

His hands were trying to grip on to anything he could to stop himself moving any closer to the end of this tunnel. He didn’t want to go there, he didn’t… HE DIDN’T! - 

“Danny,” The Chairman’s voice sounded sly.

The light changed with a flash, different colours mixing with his blurred sight. His eyes instinctively shut, trying to protect himself from what he was about to encounter, tears still streaming down his face.

He felt a pair of hands touching his back as he loud noises hit him, hurting his ears even more. The hands handed him over to a smaller but still large pair, the warmth of them comforting his small, fragile body. He was pushed up against something soft, it also warm and soothing him. He wriggled around in the arms but he couldn’t escape, it was like he was trapped in a blanket of some sort. He pushed his small, chubby hands against the blanket, trying to resist it but instead he got a woman’s weak and breathless laugh.

Danny fluttered his eyes open, his vision revealing the much younger-looking, tired and crying but smiling face of his… mother?

“This, is your story.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end!
> 
> How was that? Comments would be nice, I like talking to y'all. Also, any sexual natured works will be only for the ones who have accounts because I'm worried my family will find it.
> 
> The next story will start between late August to October probably, depends when I feel like writing it. I'm still planning it though, so take that into account, I'm sure you'll like it ;). Lets say we will cover some dark topics again between two band members ;) ;) ;)

**Author's Note:**

> You can talk to me in the comments, I'm not that scary


End file.
